


Trip On Love

by madjm



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-08 21:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3224279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madjm/pseuds/madjm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that was the story of how Clarke Griffin's pride and big mouth — not to mention the worst, most annoying best friend in the world — got her in trouble yet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write some Bellarke, but the show is a total angstfest, which hurts me too much to write, so … modern AU! There's a bunch of fake relationship fics, but that's my favorite trope, so I'm writing it anyway!

The important thing to note was, it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t even mean to do it.

 

Seriously, like the last thing Clarke Griffin ever wanted to do was pretend to be Bellamy Blake’s girlfriend. 

 

Not that she didn’t like him. Honestly, they had been getting along great lately despite their rough beginning. She and Octavia had been best friends since high school, but something about O’s older brother had just rubbed her the wrong way, and the feeling was entirely mutual. Even when the girls had become roommates in college, Clarke avoided spending any time with the elder Blake unless she was forced. The few times she tried to be nice, thinking maybe they could start over, he would just call her “Princess” in that arrogant tone or say something demeaning that would have her in the stratosphere, she was so angry. Nobody could push her buttons like Bellamy.

 

Everything changed the night she’d come home from work and found Octavia’s asshole boyfriend Atom, drunk, armed with a knife and banging on the door to the bathroom, where O had barricaded herself.

 

If she’d been smart, Clarke would have run away and called 911. Instead, she got pissed off, grabbing the closest heavy object she could find — hello, cast iron skillet — and introducing Atom to it, up close and personal.

 

Bellamy had alternated between being enraged that Atom would do that to his sister and impressed that Clarke had taken him out, and they’d both taken great enjoyment in watching Atom be arrested at the hospital after he’d been treated for a concussion.

 

So, yeah, after that incident, Bellamy and Clarke had bonded over their admittedly overprotective hovering over his little sister. He still called her “Princess” sometimes, but there was a certain fondness to it that had never been there before, and most of the time their insults to one another were a lot less venomous than in the past.

 

They became friends, even.

 

Unfortunately, the thawing in relations came with a bit of an unexpected side effect. 

 

Turns out, when he wasn’t being an epic douchebag, Bellamy Blake was really, kind of … okay, massively attractive. 

 

That realization was only intensified when he had to sleep on their couch for three days when the power to his apartment building was on the fritz. She loved and hated the way he paraded around the apartment half-naked all the time, showing off acres of smooth, tan, touchable skin.

 

Suddenly, instead of wanting to put her fist in his face, Clarke wanted to put her face on his face … or other parts of her anatomy on his face, but she tried not to think of that too much and certainly never in his presence.

 

Suddenly, after years of not really getting what the big deal was about sex (it was fine, it scratched an itch, whatever), she was having almost constant fantasies about him. And not, like, your typical (well, _her_ typical) assists in the masturbation department, but really detailed, embarrassingly dirty fantasies that popped up at the most inopportune moments. ( _Stuck in the middle of the most boring bio slide show of all time? Hey, why don’t you imagine Bellamy is next to you in your crowded lecture hall, fingering you under the desk while your professor is droning on and on?_ ) 

 

She wanted to do things to him that she’d _never_ wanted to do before, and she spent enough time imagining it that there were days she legitimately could not look him in the eye for hours afterward.

 

It was so stupid, but she couldn’t help but wonder, what if he could read her mind?

 

She could easily imagine the arrogant smirk on his face. _“Hey, Princess, I had no idea you had such a dirty mind! Any time you want to try that thing with your mouth, I’m here for that, just give me a call.”_

 

How about no.

 

So, all in all, pretending to be Bellamy’s girlfriend was a terrible, terrible idea. Not just because he was Octavia’s brother but because of the likelihood that she would slip up and humiliate herself due to the inescapable fact that she wanted to get her hands on his body almost as much as she wanted to breathe. _Whoops, we’re supposed to be pretending we like each other, was I not supposed to put my hand down your pants?_

 

Bad, bad idea.

 

The worst.

 

And yet, the thing about Clarke was, she was as stubborn as a mule, and she could not stand to be told that she couldn’t do something.

 

A fact of which Octavia was very aware.

 

So, really? It was all the Blake siblings’ fault. When she’d come across the two of them discussing how awkward it would be for Bellamy to see his ex — and her new boyfriend— at the annual policeman’s ball, Octavia had come up with the crazy idea for Clarke to pretend to be his girlfriend for the evening. Even though she immediately had rejected the stupid romcom movie idea herself, the fact that he’d let out a strangled “ _Clarke??_ ” and had laughed — laughed harder than she’d ever seen, damn him — pretty much made her do it.

 

“Oh, please, Blake,” she’d said haughtily. “You could not find a better fake girlfriend than me.”

 

Bellamy and O had both frozen in place, and Clarke pretended she didn’t see the annoying look of triumph on her best friend’s face. Damn it, she should have known the whole thing was a plot by Octavia.

 

Bellamy raised his eyebrows and smirked at her. “Oh _really_?” he asked.

 

And that was the story of how Clarke Griffin’s pride and big mouth — not to mention the worst, most annoying best friend in the world — got her in trouble yet again.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t think I don’t know whose fault this is,” she told Octavia the next day. “I know you planned the whole thing.”

 

“I have no idea what you mean,” her friend said innocently, crunching her Froot Loops obnoxiously.

 

“You know exactly what I mean,” Clarke said, pouring her own bowl of cereal. “‘Oh, Bell, I have a great idea! You should tell Lexa that Clarke’s your girlfriend, so she’ll be jealous!’ This is going to be the worst thing ever.”

 

“What? Just because you want Bell’s bod?”

 

“Octavia!”

 

She had never planned to tell O about her little obsession, but she forgot to take into  account her inability to stop herself from babbling while drinking tequila. Thanks to her buddy Jose Cuervo, she found herself spilling all the dirty details — okay, thankfully not _all_ the details, since her friend understandably cut her off somewhere between “God, I just want to do shots off his perfect abs, is that so wrong?” and the probably incoherent ramblings about what he could do with his long, lovely fingers.

 

O had sworn to forget everything she’d heard that night, but she’d been pushing Clarke and her brother together ever since. This was her least subtle move yet.

 

“Great plan, though. He can use me to get back with the girl he loves …”

 

“And you can use him in whatever filthy ways you want to until then,” Octavia finished. “Face facts: You need to get laid, babe. It’s been way too long since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

 

Clarke winced at the mention of her two-timing ex. Before she could speak, though, their third roommate chimed in from the kitchen doorway.

 

“Yeah, let’s not mention him,” Raven Reyes said, hoisting herself up on the counter next to Octavia.

 

Clarke winced. Somehow Raven had managed to stay friends with jerkface cheater Finn Collins, but Clarke was so not on board with that plan. As far as she was concerned, both of them were better off as far away from him as possible. But for a long time, he’d been the only family Raven had had, so Clarke knew that gave her friend a different perspective on the situation.

 

“Anyway,” she said forcefully, “what I’m trying to say is that I get what you’re doing here, O. Bellamy’s focused on getting Lexa back, I’m distracted by … you know, all the sexy distracting stuff … and you are free to do whatever you want. Or, should I say, whoever you want.”

 

Octavia didn’t deny it, shrugging. “Look, I know Atom turned out to be a jerk, but Bell just won’t understand that Lincoln is different. He really cares about me.”

 

“I don’t dispute that,” Clarke said. “But —”

 

“But nothing,” Raven jumped in. “We all agree, Lincoln’s a peach. What I want to know is what sexy distracting thing are you going to be distracted by? You guys actually agreed to her crazy plan?”

 

Raven, who had also been present for Clarke’s embarrassing over-share, was already laughing her ass off even before Clarke answered. 

 

“Guilty.”

 

“You should have seen it,” Octavia said, laughing, too. “Clarke said no —”

 

“Of course.”

 

“And then Bell said no —”

 

“And laughed,” Clarke added.

 

“And then you got pissed that he laughed and agreed to do it,” Raven filled in. Yes, her friends knew her very well.

 

“Yup,” Octavia said, popping the P in an annoying way. 

 

“Well played, Blake,” Raven said. “Shit, I owe you 20 bucks.”

 

“Pay up, bitch!”

 

“I hate you,” Clarke said. “I hate you both so much.”

 

“You love us,” Octavia argued. “You love me, for sure. I mean, I just ensured that you have a perfect excuse to get your hot little hands all over Bell. Bell in a _tuxedo_ , even.”

 

Yeah, like she needed _that_ picture in her head. Or the one where she removed said tuxedo with just her teeth.

 

“Clarke wants the D,” Raven said in a singsong voice.

 

“I hate that expression,” Clarke griped.

 

“Note that she doesn’t deny the accusation, though,” O chimed in.

 

“I can’t,” she replied, groaning. “I want it. I want it bad.”

 

“Don’t blame you,” Raven said. “I thought about it myself after … well, you know, with Finn. That man has a fine ass.”

 

“I like his hands,” Clarke said dreamily, imagining for the thousandth time just what he could do with them. 

 

“Ugh, I’m out,” Octavia interrupted, hopping down. “I mean, I’m glad for you and all, but that is still my brother we’re talking about.”

 

“Dude, just saying now, I want to hear every dirty detail,” Raven told her quietly as Octavia headed for her room. “I’m in a bit of a dry spell myself, so I have to live vicariously through you.”

 

“I am not sleeping with him,” Clarke said. “I’m just pretending to be his girlfriend for a few hours. So that he can get back with the girl he loves.”

 

“But … the D, Clarke.” When Clarke shook her head, Raven nodded. “Yes. Get it, Clarke, get it for both of us. Take one for the team. I mean, hell, take it as many times as you can get, in every position you can think of.”

 

“Raven!”

 

“Just saying, this is your opportunity, and you will kick yourself if you miss it. You know you want to.”

 

And holy shit, did she ever.

 

* * *

 

“I’m innocent, officer!” Clarke said upon opening the door and finding Bellamy dressed in his uniform.

 

“I highly doubt that, Griffin,” he said, leaning on the doorjamb. 

 

“It’s the truth,” she insisted. _Having X-rated fantasies about your best friend’s brother might be sketchy, but it’s not illegal. But you can cuff me if you want._

 

_Wait, what??_

 

The idea of being restrained had never done it for her before, yet the mental image of Bellamy handcuffing her to the bed — of being at his mercy — rushed through her body like a flashfire, and she knew she was blushing.

 

“Um, you just missed O,” she said, stumbling slightly back and waving him into the apartment. “But she was just running over to pick up some milk, so she’ll be right back.”

 

“You okay, there, Princess?” She could hear him closing and locking the door behind them.

 

“Mmmm, yeah. Just, you know, sleep deprived” — _sex deprived, more like_. “Suffering from an excess of …” _hormones_ … “caffeine.” 

 

She dropped into a spot on the couch, glaring at her textbooks as though it was their fault she’d put off studying too late.

 

“I’m, ah, I’m actually here to talk to you,” he said, sitting in the chair across from her. At her questioning look, he shrugged. “I was just wondering if you really meant it the other night, about helping me out.”

 

This was her chance to bail, and she should do it. If she had more than a single brain cell, she would back out. But being this close to the big brown eyes, the adorable freckles, the grab-worthy biceps …

 

“Of course I meant it,” she said. “I’ve seen every Reese Witherspoon movie in existence; this will be easy.”

 

“Great!” he said. “That’s great. I thought, if you don’t mind, maybe we could try a dress rehearsal before next weekend? I’m … if you’re free tomorrow night there’s a thing at The Ark. A retirement party for our captain, and she’ll be there.”

 

Clarke only knew the basics about Lexa; back when Bellamy had been dating her they had still kind of hated each other, and she’d avoided seeing him or talking about him as much as possible. Lexa was a cop like Bellamy, tough, smart and annoyingly beautiful. And now she was dating Marcus Kane, an older guy who was assistant district attorney.

 

“So, basically, you want me to lie to an entire bar full of cops?” she asked.

 

“Well, we’ll lie as little as possible,” he said with a laugh. “We should try to keep our story as close to the truth as we can.”

 

“Okay …” She mused, tapping her pen against her knee. “Okay, fine. We’ve known each other for years, but recently we got drunk and banged, and everything changed.”

 

He frowned.

 

“What?”

 

“A drunken hook-up? That’s not very … romantic,” he said.

 

“Romant — Oh pardon me, Nicholas Sparks, what did you have in mind?”

 

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ve known each other for years, and I always … I liked you but wasn’t exactly happy about it, so I was kind of an asshole. And then we became friends anyway, and I finally decided to ask you out.”

 

He was staring at the pile of books on the coffee table, avoiding her eyes, but he almost sounded like he meant it. But that, of course …

 

“That’s … ridiculous,” she said over the roaring in her ears. She wasn’t honestly sure if she was referring to his story itself or the fact that her heart was suddenly doing its damnedest to beat out of her chest. It was just a story. Just. A. Story. “Nobody would believe that.”

 

“Clarke —” He scooted as far forward on the chair and he could, leaning closer to her, but whatever he was going to say was lost as his sister came barreling through the door. 

 

“I almost had to fight a guy for this milk,” she said. “Like, I’m PMSing, and I need my hot chocolate, man. Do not screw with me. Hey Bell!”

 

“O.”

 

“Okay,” Clarke said, narrowing her eyes at Octavia. This whole awkward conversation could be blamed on one person. “We compromise. Our story is … we’ve —”

 

“Known each other for years,” he said, smirking.

 

“Yeah, we got that part down for sure. Then one night we were supposed to do something with O, but she stood us up to be with Lincoln.”

 

“What?” Bellamy snapped.

 

“Clarke!” Octavia objected.

 

“She abandoned us to get in Lincoln’s pants,” Clarke continued on maliciously (if Octavia was going to throw her into the line of fire, she’d have to deal with getting a bit crispy herself), “And we decided to hang out anyway. You realized how awesome I am, and I realized how … tolerable you are.”

 

“Cute,” he said.

 

“And we had way more fun than we expected, and then it was a thing.”

 

“And then you did body shots off his ‘perfect abs’,” Octavia added nastily.

 

“What?” Bellamy asked again.

 

“Never. Mind,” Clarke growled, glaring at her roommate. _I’ll never tell, my ass._

 

O smiled sweetly at them both. “Never mind, Bell. Do you guys want some hot chocolate? With whipped cream? You like whipped cream, don’t you, Clarkie?”

 

Oh God. Had she mentioned the whipped cream fantasy, too? Judging by the evil grin on her friend’s face, she totally had.

 

That was it. She was never drinking again. Well, she was never drinking tequila again. _Jose Cuervo, we are never ever ever getting back together._

 

_Like, ever._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have the third part out pretty soon, but that depends on how emotionally damaged I am by Wednesday’s episode. It’s hard to write when you’re curled into a fetal position crying about your poor babies.

Dress rehearsal? “More like stress rehearsal,” Clarke muttered, smirking at her own stupid pun. 

 

“What exactly do you wear on a fake date to a cop bar?” she hollered at Octavia.

 

She’d already decided on her favorite pair of dark-wash jeans. They made her legs look longer and did great things for her ass — not that he was really going to be looking, but still. She’d pulled out just about every top she owned and couldn’t seem to make a decision.

 

“This shouldn’t be so hard,” she said. “It’s not even a real date.” 

 

“Damn, it looks like the mall exploded in here,” O said, breezing into the room. “You need to wear something low-cut, for sure. You have fantastic boobs; Bell is always checking them out.”

 

“Most guys are,” Clarke said absently, tossing aside a shirt that didn’t even fit her anymore, then turned on her friend. “Wait, what? He checks me out?”

 

Before Octavia could answer, she shook her head and interrupted. “No, never mind. Forget I asked. I know what you’re trying to do, but don’t you think it’s a little weird to pimp your brother out to your best friend?  We’ve only just recently started to get along at all.”

 

O shrugged, picking through the tops spread across her bed. “You guys are both adults,” she said. “If it’s just sex, it’s not a big deal. You do the deed, scratch your itch, and move on.”

 

“He gets his girlfriend back, and I get some stress relief, is that it?”

 

“Hmmm.” Octavia grabbed a short-sleeved blue jersey shirt from the pile and handed it to her. “This one. You look great in this blue, and it’ll show off the girls. Even if Bell doesn’t notice — and he totally will — do you have any idea how many hot men there are working in his precinct? Maybe one of those guys is your soul mate or something.”

 

Clarke tugged her T-shirt off, pulling on the blue top. She studied herself in the mirror for a moment before nodding. She looked nice, but not like she’d tried too hard. Exactly what she’d wanted. “You’re a genius, O.”

 

“That’s what I keep telling everybody,” her friend said with a grin, ducking out the door.

 

“He doesn’t check me out,” Clarke yelled after her. “And even if he does, I’m not sleeping with him!”

 

* * *

 

Bellamy showed up exactly on time, wearing jeans and a tight black T-shirt, looking hot as hell and showing off his impressive arms to great advantage. When he grinned cheerily at her, it was all she could do not to to push him back against the door and rip that shirt right off his body.

 

And he was totally checking out her boobs.

 

_Fuck my life._

 

* * *

 

The bar was only a short drive away, and Clarke had no time to worry about what would happen because Bellamy immediately started questioning her about how her classes were going and what kind of doctor she planned to be.

 

It felt strangely like a first date, which was weird because A) It. Wasn’t. A. Real. Date. (she repeated this to herself many, many times), and B) because she’d known him for half her life.

 

Truthfully, though, it wasn’t like they sat around talking about their lives much. It was only just recently that they could even be civil to one another, so there was a lot she didn’t know about him, and vice versa.

 

The small talk (classes were going fine, and she wasn’t sure she even _wanted_ to be a doctor) got them to the bar without any awkward silences, though her confession that she wasn’t sure what she wanted earned her what Octavia called his “Interrogation Face.” Fortunately, they pulled up at the bar before he could question her further.

 

They stood outside for a moment, both hesitating to go in.

 

“We can still call this off if you want,” she offered. “It is kind of crazy.”

 

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I’m still in. Unless you want out. That would be okay, Clarke, you don’t have to —”

 

Like hell she was backing out first. Clarke Griffin was many things, but a coward was not one of them.

 

“Let’s do it, then,” she interrupted, starting for the door. 

 

It was weird, but only because it _wasn’t_ weird at all. Or awkward.

 

Okay, it was a tiny bit awkward, but only because when they walked in and his hand had automatically rested — warm and solid and _big_ — on her lower back, she’d gotten a little hitch in her breathing. She didn’t think he’d noticed, because he was scanning the bar to see who was there.

 

But still. She ordered her hormones to remain under control, at least until the “date” was over. After she was home in bed, alone, everything was fair game.

 

He steered her toward some tables crowded together near the back. There was a youngish guy with a beard standing beside the table, beer in hand. He looked very familiar, though she couldn’t think where she’d seen him.

 

“Blake! And Rapunzel!” the guy yelled when he caught sight of them.

 

“Um, what?”

 

Bellamy laughed. “Clarke, this is my partner, Miller. He’s a bit of a lightweight, and clearly he’s already had a few. You met him briefly the night you —” he made a clicking sound and pantomimed hitting something.

 

“You know, with the frying pan!” Miller said.

 

Clarke laughed. The last thing she’d expected from a cop, even a young one, was a “Tangled” reference. Though now that they mentioned it, she did recall meeting him at the hospital the night Atom was arrested. He hadn’t had a beard then, and he was quite a bit less intoxicated. She raised her eyebrows and turned to Bellamy.

 

“See, I knew you were a Disney princess, Princess,” Bellamy said, grinning at her.

 

Her stupid breath hitched again, and she found it almost impossible to look away from the dark eyes locked with hers.

 

“So you two are …” Miller trailed off.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” Bellamy said, still holding her gaze.

 

“About damn time,” Miller said, and Clarke finally broke away to look at him with a frown.

 

“What —”

 

“He means it’s about time Blake started dating again,” another voice broke in. Clarke wondered if she imagined the sigh of relief from Bellamy. The speaker was a small brunette with a big smile. She pointed to herself. “I’m Monroe, that’s my partner, Murphy.”

 

The guy sprawled in a chair nearby raised his bottle in salute, and Clarke nodded at him.

 

“You guys want to sit?” Monroe waved at a few empty seats in the middle of the crowd.

 

Clarke looked to Bellamy, and he steered her before him, hand on her back again.

 

_Settle down, Clarke. For pete’s sake, he’s just being polite. It’s not his fault his hands Do Things to you._

 

* * *

He never called her his girlfriend; he simply introduced her by name to the tables full of his co-workers and let his body language do the lying for him. She definitely approved of that plan; it was hard not to when they were pressed together so closely that another inch would have her in his lap (a fantasy that she may have entertained a time or two before). His arm was tucked around her, fingers playing absently with the ends of her hair. When he wasn’t sipping at his beer, his other hand tangled with hers in her lap, long fingers intertwining with hers, thumb brushing up and down her hand.

 

She was doing her best to contain the shivers, but there was only so much a girl could do. She was feeling a little light-headed, and she honestly wasn’t sure if it was just him or the fact that she hadn’t eaten in hours. 

 

Bellamy, she decided as his thumb stroked her palm. It was definitely him.

 

God, she wanted those hands on her skin, _all over_ her skin. She couldn’t quite stop herself from zoning out for a moment, picturing those fingers plucking at her nipples, then sliding down over her belly and between her legs —

 

“Cold?” he murmured in her ear, chuckling as another shiver overtook her.

 

She turned to find him smirking at her — she could tell, she could just _tell_ the smug son of a bitch knew exactly what he was doing to her.

 

Of course, of freaking course, he would choose now to start flirting with her.

 

_Fuck. My. Life._

 

Clarke would be damned if she’d let him win, though. (See any and all previous comparisons between Clarke and a mule).

 

She leaned a little closer, feeling a spark of triumph when his eyes immediately dropped to her cleavage. The girls save the day again. Yay, boobs.

 

“Hot, actually,” she said, resting a hand on his thigh — higher than was strictly necessary, but he _had_ started it — and lowering her voice a bit. “But it’s not like I can take any of my clothes off.”

 

He looked startled, eyes wrenching away from her breasts, then he gave a choked laugh. The calculating look that crossed his face then should probably have worried her, not turned her on even more.

 

But as has been established, Clarke had a serious Bellamy Blake problem, coupled with a tendency to get herself into trouble.

 

He shifted in his seat, and her hand slid even _further_ up his thigh. She tightened her fingers in an effort to stop herself from groping him, because that would be rude and inappropriate, et cetera. But it was quite the struggle. With hands that big, then it followed that _everything_ would be big, right? Or was that just an old wives’ tale? She was like a mere inch away from being able to find out for herself …

 

That thought — okay, pretty much any coherent thought — fled from her mind a second later when he trailed a finger along the neckline of her top, finger ghosting underneath the fabric. “I certainly wouldn’t complain,” he said, and even though she had no idea what the hell he was even talking about, she wanted to agree with him. She had no complaints whatsoever … except that the husky tone of his voice and the fact that he was touching her skin was causing a throbbing between her legs that she certainly wasn’t going to be able to take care of in the middle of a bar full of cops.

 

_Fuck. My. Fucking. Life._

 

_No, don’t think about fucking. Don’t even think about straddling fucking Bellamy Blake’s lap and fucking the hell out of him right in front of every person in this fucking bar. Clarke Griffin, get your mind out of the fucking gutter right now!_

 

Damn it.

 

Where were they?

 

Oh, right, he wouldn’t complain if she took her clothes off.

 

Before she could rally her lust-addled brain to reply in kind, Murphy spoke up from across the table. “Shit, you two, get a room!”

 

His complaint broke the spell, and suddenly they were both laughing. Clarke blew out an admittedly shaky breath and reached for her beer, forcing herself back into innocuous fake girlfriend mode.

 

More alcohol on an empty stomach was probably not the way to go, but she had to do something to distract herself.

 

_That was way too close. Dammit, Octavia._

 

* * *

 

“You really don’t have to walk me to my door,” she said, laughing. She was _not_ drunk, thank you very much, just possibly a little buzzed after a few beers. 

 

(No tequila, though. When Monroe and Miller had started doing shots, she had abstained. For safety’s sake. She couldn’t take the chance that she’d start spilling all her dirty fantasies to the guy who starred in every one.)

 

Despite her protests, Bellamy had insisted on doing the gentlemanly thing and walking her up. “It’s the least a fake boyfriend can do,” he said.

 

She leaned against the wall outside the apartment and fumbled with her keys, snorting out a laugh — not her most attractive moment. Maybe she was drunker than she thought. “Yeah, none of my real boyfriends would bother if they weren’t getting laid,” she said.

 

“Well,” he said, taking the keys from her and slipping the door key in the lock. “You deserve better than those assholes, Princess.”

 

“Yeah,” she agreed, closing her eyes. “Yeah, I totally do. Even my fake boyfriend is better than them.”

 

She grinned and opened her eyes to find Bellamy much closer than he had been, one hand resting on the wall beside her head. He was standing so close she imagined she could feel the heat from his body, but that was probably just the way her blood was suddenly pumping like mad inside her own.

 

“Clarke,” he said hoarsely, leaning closer.

 

He was going to kiss her. Wasn’t he? Oh, God, she wanted him to, she wanted his mouth on hers so bad she could taste it, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe and the throbbing was back between her thighs and …

 

He pulled back.

 

“You should get some sleep,” he said, turning the key and pushing her door open. “Thanks for tonight.”

 

She didn’t know if she wanted to jump him or beat the hell out of him. It was a real dilemma, and it kind of pissed her off.

 

Before she closed the door behind her, something occurred to her, even through the frustrated arousal. “Bellamy,” she called down the hall. “She wasn’t there tonight!”

 

He shrugged. “Who?”

 

_Um, duh._  

 

“Lexa,” she said. 

 

“Oh.” He shrugged again. “Right. I … I thought she would be. But, um, Saturday, she’ll be there for sure.”

 

“Great,” she muttered as he disappeared into the elevator. “Swell. Can’t wait.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, there’s sleeping beauty,” Octavia said when she finally dragged her carcass out of bed just before 11 the next day. Turns out, drinking on an empty stomach and staying up late daydreaming about big hands, dark eyes and freckles was not the healthiest life choice ever.

 

Her eyes barely open, Clarke just growled and flipped her friend off as she shuffled toward the kitchen.

 

“Leave her alone, O, she’s probably hungover,” Bellamy said.

 

Clarke came to a dead halt in front of the Keurig. 

 

_Bellamy_? Had her obsession progressed to full blown hallucinations, or had she really heard his voice? 

 

Bellamy, who had maybe kind of almost kissed her last night. Or was that all in her head? What the hell was he doing there?

 

She mentally catalogued her appearance. Even without having seen a mirror she could picture her rat’s nest hair and smudged makeup, since she hadn’t bothered to remove it last night. And, oh yeah, really short sleep shorts and a tank top with no freaking bra.

 

Brilliant.

 

She needed coffee. She needed all the coffee on earth. Like, a coffee I.V., stat.

 

She picked a blend at random and started up the Keurig, mentally thanking Raven as she saw her roomie had left one of her oversized flannel shirts over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Snatching up the flannel and yanking it on, she promised herself she’d stop giving Raven crap about leaving her stuff all over the apartment. Clarke at least felt _slightly_ less naked with it on.

 

“I can’t believe you got drunk on your fake date,” Octavia called from the living room.

 

Once her blessedly strong coffee was finished, Clarke managed to answer. “I wasn’t drunk!”

 

“You were a little drunk,” Bellamy said, and she could hear the laughter in his stupid (stupidly attractive) voice. 

 

She made a brief attempt to finger-comb her hair, then forced herself to walk as casually as possible into the living room and slide onto the couch next to her roommate — only to find the siblings giving her eerily similar grins.

 

“Okay, first, you two look exactly alike, and it’s freaking me out right now. Second … I might have been a little drunk, but I didn’t even drink that much.”

 

“Yeah, from some of the epic stories O tells, I expected you could really hold your liquor,” he said.

 

“Wait, what epic stories are we talking about? No, never mind, I don’t want to know,” she corrected herself. “And, no, usually a couple beers wouldn’t have affected me that much. But I maybe sort of … forgot to eat anything after breakfast yesterday.”

 

“Clarke!” Octavia smacked her on the arm.

 

“I know, I know!”

 

“You’re going to make yourself sick.”

 

“I know, Octavia, I’m sorry. Between work and class I just got so busy, and I forgot. I think I might have had a little bag of chips for lunch, but …” She shrugged and sipped her coffee.

 

“You should have said something! We could have stopped to eat first.” Bellamy frowned, and now the matching frowns were freaking her out. “Does this happen a lot?”

 

“Too much,” O tattled.

 

“I said I’m sorry,” Clarke said, sighing. “Can we skip the lecture this time?”

 

“The reason I stopped by,” Bellamy interrupted (bless his heart), “is that I forgot to ask if you wanted me to give you some money for a dress.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“For the thing Saturday. You’re doing this as a favor to me, so I can pick up the tab for your dress if you want.”

 

“My wardrobe is being vetted by the Fashion Police,” she said, nodding at Octavia. “If I don’t have anything she approves of, we’re going shopping today. But I’ve got it.”

 

“I was in there this morning. Though it was hard to concentrate through all your snoring — ouch!” Octavia glared at her and rubbed her leg where Clarke had kicked her. “Joking, babe, chill. You totally need something new.”

 

“What a surprise,” Clarke said flatly. Octavia passing up the opportunity to shop was likely one of the signs of the apocalypse.

 

“Seriously,” Bellamy said. “I can —”

 

“If you’re looking to be my sugar daddy, Blake, you’re going to have to have more than a cop’s salary,” she said, laughing at his mock-offended look. “Seriously, though, there’s a hospital gala coming up next month that my mom will make me go to, so I’d have to have a dress for that, anyway. I’ll charge it to her.”

 

“If you’re sure …”

 

“I’m sure! Thank you for the offer, though.” She smiled at him, ignoring the weird little flutter in her chest when he smiled back. _Had_ he really almost kissed her last night? And if so, why had he pulled back? Clearing her throat, she broke eye contact and looked at Octavia. “Where’s the other Fashion Police officer? Out running or something?”

 

“Oh, that’s right, you were gone when she left.” Octavia grinned and rubbed her hands together like some kind of creepy movie villain. “Raven. Had. A. Date.”

 

Talk about signs of the apocalypse. 

 

“A date with who? And she’s still not home? Are you sure she’s okay?”

 

“She went out with that engineering student she claims not to be into,” Octavia said. “About 1 she texted me not to wait up for her.”

 

“Damn, get it, girl!” Clarke said, grinning. “Good for her.”

 

At least someone managed to end their dry spell last night.

 

“On that note,” Bellamy said, standing up, “I’ve got to get going. Clarke, if it’s okay, I’ll pick you up at 6 Saturday?”

 

“I thought the thing didn’t even start until 7:30?”

 

He grinned. “True, but I’m buying you dinner before, just in case.”

 

“You don’t have to —”

 

“He just doesn’t want you to get drunk and embarrass him in front of his boss or the mayor or whatever,” Octavia said, smirking at her.

 

Clarke laughed. “Okay, fair enough. See you at 6.”

 

He looked like he wanted to say something more, then glanced at his sister. “Great, see you two later.”

 

After he’d left, Clarke felt Octavia’s eyes on her. “What?” 

 

“We’d better look for some lingerie while we’re at it,” O said, waggling her eyebrows. “I mean, as much as I’m sure Bell enjoyed seeing you walk around without a bra, I’d recommend something a little more Victoria’s Secret for Saturday night.”

 

“Bitch!” Clarke laughed, throwing a pillow at her head before standing up. “I’m too hungover to talk to you right now. Wake me up when Rave gets back.”

* * *

Clarke enjoyed shopping a little bit, but Octavia was a marathon shopper. She wouldn’t rest until she found the exact thing she was looking for at the best price possible, and it was exhausting for mere mortals to tag along. But since she was required to try on every single dress O picked out (and there were many, many dresses), Clarke couldn’t exactly skip out.

 

For that reason, she insisted they wait for their other roommate. Raven didn’t give a damn about shopping, but she had a great eye for fashion, and her lack of patience for the process was a great balance for Octavia’s unflagging enthusiasm. Bringing Raven along gave them a 50/50 chance of making it out of the mall without tears.

 

Bonus, it gave them a chance to grill her for details of her date.

 

Not that Raven was terribly cooperative on that front.

 

“It was fine.”

 

“It was fine?” Clarke asked in disbelief. “It. Was. Fine? This from the woman who demanded — and I quote — ‘every dirty detail’ of my nonexistent sexytimes with Bellamy?”

 

“It was … I don’t know,” Raven said slowly. “It was fun.”

 

“That’s great!” Octavia said, shoving an armful of dresses at Clarke. “You, try those on. You, more details, please.”

 

“I just … he was really funny. And, I don’t know, nice,” Raven said. Then a wide smile broke across her face, one that they rarely got to see. “He was a total gentleman, like he held the door for me and all that shit; I don’t even know if he was going to kiss me goodnight … and then I just went crazy and jumped him.”

 

Clarke hopped in place, almost dropping a dress or two. “So, did the gentlemanly trait carry over to sex? You know, ladies first and all?”

 

“Oh my God,” Raven moaned. “Ladies first, and second …”

 

“Raven! This is awesome!” Octavia squealed. She glanced at Clarke. “Why are you not trying those on now?”

 

“I don’t want to miss anything!”

 

Octavia pushed her into the dressing room, waving for Raven to follow. They stood outside her door while she stripped and started in on the dresses. She didn’t even get the first one over her hips before she pulled it off. Nope.

 

“I’m not hearing anything,” Clarke called, grabbing the next dress.

 

“When are you going to see him again?” O asked.

 

Clarke eyed the dress in the mirror, turning from side to side. Not terrible. She opened the door, throwing her arms into a wide pose.

 

“Not that one,” Raven said. “That color washes you out.”

 

Clarke shrugged and closed the door.

 

“So,” Octavia said. “You’re going to see him, when?”

 

“I don’t know if I will.”

 

Clarke started to answer, getting sidetracked when her phone buzzed, jumping across the wooden bench in the dressing room. She picked it up and flipped it over. It was from Bellamy.

 

**_Have you eaten lunch yet?_ **

 

She rolled her eyes, unable to stop the smile on her face.

 

**_oh, great, 2 blakes nagging me._ **

 

She put the phone down, just in time to catch the tail end of Octavia questioning (one might even say berating) Raven.

 

“This guy could be so great for you. Why would you not see him again?”

 

“Not every guy is Lincoln, Octavia.”

 

Clarke’s phone buzzed again.

 

**_That’s not an answer, princess._ **

 

**_yes, officer, i ate. ask o if u don’t believe me._ **

 

She pulled the door open, ignoring the fact that her dress was still half off. “Raven, do what you want, but just because Finn is a dick doesn’t mean all guys are bad.”

 

This was a subject they mostly avoided talking about, but Clarke pushed herself to finish what she’d started. “You’ve — _we’ve_ — already suffered enough because of what he did. Don’t let him keep you from trying again.”

 

Raven blinked back tears. “It’s just hard.”

 

“I know it is, Rave. But you are fucking amazing, and any guy would be lucky to have you.”

 

“You guys!” Octavia pulled them both into a hug. “Any guy would be lucky to have any of us. We rock!”

 

“Damn straight,” Clarke said, pulling away and glancing at her phone as another text came in.

 

**_Don’t think I won’t._ **

 

She smiled, frowning when Octavia pulled the phone out of her hand. 

 

“And who are you texting, hmm? Wait, are you sexting my brother?”

 

Clarke scoffed. “I’m not sexting anyone. Your brother is nagging me about eating.”

 

“Did you forget to eat again?” Raven asked.

 

Clarke sighed. “Never mind, give me my phone back.”

 

“Nu-uh,” Octavia handed it to Raven, who stepped back. 

 

“Let’s send him something naughty,” Raven said, smirking. 

 

“Don’t you dare!”

 

“Maybe I’ll text him a picture of some of these undies out here and ask him which he prefers …”

 

“I swear to God, Raven, I will end you.”

 

“Oh, relax, we wouldn’t do that to you. Probably,” Octavia said. “Now, get your ass back in there and try on those dresses before we really _do_ text something dirty to Bell.”

 

“I hate you guys,” Clarke snapped, slamming the door.

 

“You love us,” they chorused.

 

Friends. Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t suffocate them under a pile of crappy-looking dresses.

 

* * *

 

It took three hours, 32 dresses, two Extra Strength Excedrin and one giant Cinnabon (plus one photo of the Cinnabon texted to the elder Blake), but they found a dress that satisfied both Octavia and Raven.

 

Clarke, too, but apparently her approval was pretty low on the list of priorities.

 

They had all finally agreed on a black one-shoulder gown with a healthy slit up the side. It clung to her curves in all the right places and balanced classy and sexy perfectly. Clarke had a pair of killer (in look and feel) black heels that would be perfect with it, and she deemed it worth the torture to put her closer to Bellamy’s height for the evening.

 

And, yeah, maybe they did pay a visit to Victoria’s Secret, and maybe she did zone out for a few minutes on the drive home imagining Bellamy removing her new black lacy panties with his teeth.

 

A girl can dream, right?

 

 

* * *

She should have known something was up when he didn’t text her about dinner.

 

Since Saturday, Bellamy had been sending her reminders to eat, and it should have been annoying but was actually kind of adorable (not a word she would ever have associated with him before).

 

She was nearly finished with her paper on Robert Oppenheimer when she heard her phone ringing. Snatching it up, she saw O was calling her.

 

“O, what’s up? Where are you?”

 

Through her friend’s sobs she got the gist: Bellamy had been shot, and Lincoln was taking her to the hospital, could Clarke meet them there?

 

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat. “I’m on my way,” she managed, heading for the door before she remembered she didn’t have her keys … and was wearing fuzzy bear claw slippers. “Shit. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Octavia, he’ll be okay.”

 

* * *

 

He was, in fact, perfectly okay.

 

After she’d broken every speed limit between their apartment and the hospital, feeling like she was holding her breath the entire time, she’d found O standing in the main lobby. Octavia had thrown herself into Clarke’s arms. “It wasn’t him,” she said. “Whoever left me the message got it wrong; his partner was shot, not Bell. He’s okay.”

 

And suddenly, she could breathe again, the relief surging through her and leaving her actually shaking.

 

Octavia had needed a few minutes, so she and Lincoln were taking a walk around outside to get some air. Clarke headed for the emergency area. Her mom had been a surgeon at the hospital her whole life, so Clarke knew the way by heart.

 

She spotted him immediately, seated on one of the couches that she knew from experience felt like it was filled with concrete. He had his elbows leaning on his knees and was looking at the ground. He was still dressed in uniform, and she could see the dried blood on some of the fabric.

 

Thank God it wasn’t his.

 

“Hey,” she said, brushing her hand over his back. She glanced at one of the other couches, which held a few of his co-workers she’d met Friday, and nodded at them.

 

“Clarke,” he said, his voice sounding rusty. He looked up at her, and her heart broke at the look on his face.

 

“Octavia called me,” she answered his unspoken question. “She thought …”

 

He nodded. “I know. She practically tackled me a few minutes ago.” He looked more closely at her. “You weren’t crying for _me_ , were you?”

 

She touched her face, feeling that she apparently had shed a few tears; she’d been in such a fog of panic she hadn’t even realized.

 

“Nah,” she said lightly, sitting beside him. Yep, the couch felt hard as a rock. “I was crying for O.”

 

“Right,” he nodded. “Hey, do you think you could use your connections and find out what’s going on with Miller? We’ve been here an hour and they won’t tell us a fucking thing.”

 

“Give me a few minutes,” she said, standing as she spotted Dr. Jackson walk past.

 

* * *

 

It took more than a few minutes, but at least she returned with good news.

 

“The bullet was a through-and-through,” she told them. “It didn’t damage any organs, and as far as they can tell didn’t leave any fragments behind. That’s a good thing. That’s about all they’ll tell me. Right now, they’re only letting family in to see him, but in a while they might make an exception for his partner, at least.”

 

She smiled at the relief on their faces as they high fived and exchanged back-slapping hugs. Then she forgot how to breathe again as Bellamy pulled her into a hug — no manly back-slapping in sight, just the warm, solid press of his body against hers and the breath of his relived laugh blowing her hair around.

 

“Thanks, Clarke,” he said, pulling back to smile at her.

 

She shrugged. “I didn’t do anything.”

 

“Tell that to them,” he jerked his chin toward his co-workers, still celebrating despite the nurses’ attempts to hush them.

 

“I’m just glad your partner will be okay,” she said. “I … I guess I’m going to take off now.”

 

“Have you had dinner?”

 

“Are you serious right now?”

 

“That’s not an answer, Griffin.”

 

“I ate. A while ago,” she muttered.

 

“How long is a while?”

 

“Oh my God, you’re as bad as Octavia!”

 

He chuckled. “Come on, Clarke. I’m going to the cafeteria for a bite. Don’t make me eat alone.”

 

Then he turned on the puppy dog eyes.

 

And she was sunk.

 

“Great!” He didn’t even wait for her answer, looping his arm around hers and pulling her toward the elevator. “I’ll text O in case she and what’s-his-face want to meet us.”

 

He didn’t let go of her arm until they stood in line at the cafeteria, and it suddenly occurred to her (way, way too late) that her Bellamy Blake problem might go just a little deeper than lust.

 

There was no way that the whole thing wasn’t going to blow up spectacularly in her face, but there was no way she was going back out now.

 

She was epically screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the lovely comments on this. I love you guys! Come talk to me on Tumblr — I'm madjm there, too!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part was getting a little out of hand, and the latter section is giving me fits, so I decided to split it up. Also, it occurs to me that it’s possible that cops wear their dress uniforms to policeman’s balls, but if I want to imagine Bellamy Blake in a tux, you can’t stop me. So there.

“Why exactly do I feel like I’m getting ready for prom?” Clarke asked, then yelped when Octavia yanked on her hair and turned her face forward again.

 

“Sit still.”

 

“I didn’t go to prom,” Raven commented from where she was sprawled on Clarke’s bed.  “Finn got bronchitis, so we spent the whole night watching movies on his couch while he coughed up a lung.”

 

“You didn’t miss much,” Octavia said. “I went with Brian Crestwood, remember? He got drunk and puked all over my dress. And then he still thought I would do him. Yeah, Bri, nothing gets a girl going like Jagermeister-tinged vomit.”

 

“Mine was okay,” Clarke said, hissing as O pulled a little too hard. “Raven, you haven’t met my friend Wells, but we went together. Since we went as friends, we were able to skip all that ‘are we gonna bang’ pressure and just have fun.”

 

“And rescue me from Brian Crestwood,” Octavia muttered.

 

“That, too.”

 

“You don’t have to worry about that tonight, either,” Raven said. “Because you’re totally gonna hit that, right?” 

 

“Raven! God, we’ve been over this!”

 

“Deny it all you want, Clarke, but when you see my big bro in a tux, you’re toast,” Octavia chimed in. “Okay, done.”

 

Clarke took the hand mirror off her dresser and held it so she could see the back of her hair, which Octavia had fixed in a braided crown around her head.

 

“Just like a real princess,” Octavia said.

 

“Wow, O, that looks fantastic!” Clarke turned her head from side to side admiring her friend’s work.

 

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Raven said, sitting up to get a closer look. “Hope it’s easy to undo, though. Bellamy seems like the kind of guy who’d maybe want to pull your hair while you —”

 

“Raven!” Clarke and Octavia chorused.

 

“I don’t even want that picture in my head, okay?” O said. 

 

Clarke didn’t want that picture in her head, either. 

 

No, really.

 

She absolutely refused to consider whether or not she’d like Bellamy to pull her hair during sex. She was not going to visualize it in great detail, and her pulse rate was certainly _not_ going to bump up due to the personal porno currently playing in her brain.

 

“We are _not_ having sex,” she said, quite aware that her voice was only a tiny bit stronger than her nonexistent willpower.

 

Given the smug smiles her friends exchanged — and the fact that they didn’t even deign to argue with her — all three of them knew without a doubt that Clarke Griffin was completely full of shit.

 

* * *

“I’ve never spent that long getting ready for anything, ever,” Clarke complained as she paced the apartment. Octavia had refused to allow her to sit, for fear of wrinkling her dress. The fact that it was going to wrinkle just as much on the ride over was apparently beside the point. Lord, even her mother wasn’t as picky as her friend.

 

“That’s why you always look like a character on ‘Lost’,” Octavia said.

 

“Whatever, all the characters on ‘Lost’ look fabulous. It’s not even realistic. I mean, they throw some worn clothes on them and a little smudge on their face … Raven, what are you doing? I thought you had a date?”

 

Her friend popped open a beer and settled more comfortably on the couch with her feet up on the coffee table. She unclipped a half-eaten bag of Doritos and aimed her most bored expression at Clarke. “I told Wick I’d be a little late. There’s no way I’m missing this show.”

 

“Raven!” Octavia objected.

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Clarke said, nodding. “That is —”

 

“This is not an occasion for Doritos, Reyes. We need popcorn.” Octavia bustled into the kitchen, oblivious to the death glare Clarke was sending her way.

 

“ _Popcorn_? What the hell is wrong with you two?”

 

“Well, we both want to see Bellamy’s face when he gets a load of you in that dress. And I’m personally betting that you won’t make it out the door without jumping him, so I don’t want to miss it.”

 

“They’ll at least make it to the prom,” O yelled from the kitchen. She leaned around the door to look at them after starting the microwave. “I’m betting on coat-check closet sex, myself.”

 

Clarke groaned and looked at the ceiling as if seeking divine guidance. She was answered not by a higher power but by a knock on the door.

 

“Oh my God!” O squealed, ducking back into the kitchen. “It’s starting!”

 

“For fuck’s sake, you two,” Clarke muttered. “You know, we do have Netflix in this apartment if you need entertainment.”

 

“Get the door,” Raven ordered as O came out of the kitchen with her bag of microwave popcorn. 

 

Octavia dropped onto the couch beside her and motioned toward the door. “Get it!”

 

Rolling her eyes, Clarke headed for the door, turning to point and glare at her roomies, who were currently whispering and giggling together like little girls. “Hush,” she hissed.

 

Taking a deep breath, she pulled the door open … and then kind of forgot how to breathe for a moment.

 

Bellamy Blake in jeans and a T-shirt was bad enough. In a tux, he was mouth-watering. 

 

Like, literally.

 

Clarke closed her mouth (with an embarrassingly audible snap) to prevent actual drool from leaking out and making her look even more moronic than she probably already did. She forced the breath into her lungs as she scanned his black-clad body from head to toe and back up again.

 

Oh God, was she screwed.

 

He looked so good in the tux that all she wanted was to make Raven’s wish come true and get him _out_ of it immediately.

 

It wasn’t until she heard the giggle club fire up again behind her that she realized that Bellamy was similarly affected. He was still looking her up and down, and he had kind of an awestruck look on his face that told her she looked really, really hot.

 

Either that, or she was a total troll.

 

(She wasn’t a troll. Clarke wasn’t a vain girl, but she did own a mirror. And after spending hours suffering at the hands of Octavia Blake, she had never looked hotter.)

 

“Hi,” she said, finally, annoyed at the breathless sound of her own voice.

 

“I …” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in adorable clumps. “Um, hi.”

 

“Hi,” she repeated, apparently forgetting every other word she knew.

 

He grinned. “You said that already. Clarke, I’m … you look beautiful.”

 

“So do you,” she said, sending him a bright smile, internally wondering where the hell her brain went and if she should try to get it back before they left.

 

“Damn,” she heard Raven mutter behind her. “She has more self-control than I thought.”

 

“Coat closet,” Octavia whispered, not nearly as quietly as she should.

 

Bellamy quirked an eyebrow and looked over her shoulder, noticing their audience for the first time. “Do I even want to know?” he asked her.

 

“You really don’t,” she said, shaking her head. She turned and grabbed her purse off the coffee table, sending another death glare her friends’ way. It was, as usual, completely ignored. 

 

“Have fun, kids,” Octavia said, as Clarke all but pushed Bellamy out the door.

 

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” Raven called before both girls started laughing again.

 

* * *

Bellamy unlocked his truck and pulled the passenger door open for her. 

 

“Thanks,” she said softly, tongue darting out to wet her lips, which suddenly seemed as dry as the Sahara. Maybe it was being so dressed up, or maybe the fact that her roommates were making bets about when (not if) they were going to hook up, but she was feeling weirdly shy all of a sudden. 

 

It was at least 75 out, so it definitely wasn’t the temperature that gave her goosebumps when he slipped a hand around her arm to stop her before she got in the truck.

 

“Got any room in that thing?” he asked, nodding at her clutch purse.

 

“A little bit, why? You’re not going to ask me to smuggle contraband into the policeman’s ball, are you?”

 

“So suspicious, Griffin. I like that in a woman. Open up.” At her raised eyebrow, he laughed. “The purse, Clarke. Open it up.”

 

She rolled her eyes, then opened the clutch, laughing a little as he dropped a PayDay candy bar in there and snapped it closed again.

 

“Seriously?”

 

He shrugged. “In case you get hungry.”

 

She smacked him on the arm with her purse, then slid into the seat. “You’re being ridiculous. How could I not eat when you’re texting me all day about it? Besides, I thought you were taking me to dinner?”

 

He shut the door for her, then went around to the driver’s side. “I am, but in case of emergency …”

 

“Bellamy Blake, boy scout.”

 

He shrugged, pulling out onto the street. “Just looking out for you, Princess.”

 

“And I appreciate it.” She laughed at his look of disbelief. “I do appreciate the concern; it’s just not necessary. Your sister tends to exaggerate, in case you didn’t notice. Sometimes, I just get busy. Don’t tell me you’ve never missed a meal when work gets crazy.”

 

“Okay, yeah, maybe. I just … you’re a little single-minded, and it seems like you might be trying to … you know what, it’s not my business,” he said.

 

Part of her really wanted to know what he had to say, but the larger part preferred to stay in the dark. Maybe it was because he was a cop, or because he’d known her for years, but Bellamy seemed to see her more clearly than anyone else she knew. And she wasn’t sure she necessarily wanted that.

 

Especially when this whole dating thing wasn’t even real.

 

“So,” she said, forcing some cheer into her voice. “Dinner! Where are we going?”

 

“Well,” he said slowly, “I thought about taking you to one of those fancy places you spoiled rich girls always go to, but then I remembered how much I like being able to make my house payment.”

 

She snorted out a laugh. “Fair enough. So?”

 

“So, I decided to take you to my favorite place ever.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“You’ll see,” he said, shooting her a grin. “We might be a tiny bit overdressed, but I expect we’ll manage.”

 

* * *

“Yep,” she said a few minutes later, climbing out of the truck before he could open her door. “Just a bit overdressed.”

 

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but they have the best burgers in town. … But you know, if you’d rather, we could just go back —”

 

“No way,” she said, nodding at the brightly-colored food truck sitting in a prime spot next to the lake in the park. “You can’t promise the best burger ever and not follow through. Plus, you can’t beat this location at any fancy restaurant.”

 

He smiled, then waved at the cluster of picnic tables nearby, most of them already taken. A good sign for the quality of the food, she supposed. “If you trust me, I’ll order for us. Would you mind saving that table?”

 

She sat, watching the water to stop herself from staring at Bellamy. She could hear him laughing at something the food truck guy was saying, and just the sound of it did something funny to her heart. Which was just annoying and not at all fair. It was bad enough to have her hormones in a jumble because of the jerk, she did not need her heart involved, too.

 

_After tonight, it’s over_ , she lectured herself. _Your fake relationship is about to have a fake breakup, so get a grip_.

 

She managed a smile when he slid their tray onto the table and sat across from her; it turned into a real one as soon as she smelled the food.

 

“Wow, that smells great,” she said.

 

“Diet coke, right?” he asked, holding up a cup.

 

She nodded, taking the cup and a plastic basket holding a giant cheeseburger and fries. “Sheesh, Bellamy, if I ate this whole thing you’d have to roll me into the …”

 

She trailed off, staring at the plate. More precisely, staring at the little plastic dish — nestled between the french fries and the enormous sandwich — filled with dill pickle slices.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I …” She looked up at him. “How did you know I always get extra pickles on the side?”

 

He shrugged, looking down at his own burger. “I’m a cop,” he said. “We’re trained to be observant.”

 

She swallowed hard, then licked her lips before taking a quick sip of her drink. “So, Officer Blake, what else have you … observed?”

 

His eyes returned to hers, briefly dropping to her mouth, and he spoke quietly. “You always lick your lips when you’re nervous.”

 

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat, and she curled her tongue in her mouth to stop herself from doing just that.

 

“When you think something is really funny, you snort a little when you laugh,” he continued, his face completely serious. “If you get up for a drink refill, you feel compelled to get one for anyone else who needs it. You’ll watch basically anything that’s on Netflix if it’s not a medical drama, but your favorites are the stupid sitcoms. You get teary-eyed at the end of ‘Pride & Prejudice’ when Elizabeth is out in the field at dawn and sees what’s-his-face walking toward her. You have a really pretty voice, but you don’t like to sing in front of people. Your favorite shirt has the Millennium Falcon on it. Your dad gave you, and you wear it on the days you miss him the most.”

 

Her damn heart was beating so hard she was pretty sure he could hear it, and she clasped her hands together when she realized they were trembling. “Bellamy —”

 

He cleared his throat, then a smile ghosted across his face. “And you have _definitely_ thought about doing shots off my abs. I’m not opposed to that, by the way, as long as I get to reciprocate.”

 

She gasped, then couldn’t help but laugh. She was sure he only wanted to lighten the mood by flirting with her; if only he knew how often she’d actually fantasized about that.

 

“Something wrong with the burgers?”

 

Clarke jumped at the voice, which belonged to a skinny kid in an apron and, weirdly, a pair of goggles pinning back his shaggy brown hair. The apron had a bright red mushroom cloud with the words “Apocalypse Burgers” on it. Classy.

 

“Hey, Jasper,” Bellamy said. “They’re great, I’m sure. We were just about to —”

 

“I’m Jasper,” the kid told her, as if Bellamy hadn’t just said so. “My friend Monty and I run this place. And you are …?”

 

She shot a glance at Bellamy before answering. “I’m Clarke,” she said. “Nice to meet you?”

 

“Yeahhhh,” he said, grinning and raising his eyebrows at Bellamy before giving him a double thumbs-up. Clarke tried and failed to hold back a laugh, and maybe she kind of did snort a little bit. 

 

So, Bellamy was observant. He probably noticed stuff like that about everyone. Whatever.

 

Shrugging, she took a bite. “Oh. My. God. This is amazing,” she said.

 

“Right?” Jasper laughed strangely, then wandered back to the truck.

 

“Is he high?” she wondered.

 

“Oh yeah,” Bellamy said. “They both probably are. But they make a hell of a burger.”

 

Clarke nodded and took another bite, grateful that they wouldn’t be talking for a while. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of Bellamy’s rundown on Clarke Griffin, not to mention the actual flirting. It was almost as though … maybe he _liked_ her? Or did he really just notice that kind of stuff about everyone? She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react to this information.

 

Bless pothead Jasper and his excellent timing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How painful was this week's episode??! This show will be the death of me, I swear. Since I had this part mostly written, I was able to finish it and post, but the next one probably won't be so quick. Don't hate me!

Clarke could easily have eaten the entire giant Apocalypse Burger, but she made herself stop halfway through so she wouldn’t bust the stitches on her new dress. That would be a tad embarrassing, and Octavia would never forgive her.

 

To distract herself from thinking about Bellamy and what he’d said, she asked him about Miller on the drive over to the city events center where the policemen’s ball was going on. She already knew he’d been released to go home, but she let Bellamy fill her in on the details while she mentally lectured herself back into a relatively calm state.

 

The calm cracked a little bit when he insisted on opening her door for her and immediately took her hand as they walked toward the building.

 

_It’s just part of our cover_ , she told herself, ignoring the fact that the parking lot was practically empty and there was really no need for him to put on a show yet. His hand was warm and comforting as it curled around hers, though, and she didn’t try to pull away.

 

The ballroom was gorgeous, all twinkling lights and shades of gold, art deco-style centerpieces on crisp white tablecloths throughout the room. The band played something from the big band era, and a number of couples crowded the sizable dance floor in the center of the room.

 

“Fancy,” she said, smiling at him. “You want to dance?”

 

He nodded. “Yeah, but first let’s get a photo.” He tugged her hand, pulling her toward a group of old-style photo booths lined up along the side wall.

 

They found an open booth and squeezed in together, which was a little awkward, since there was no way they could both sit.

 

“Well … this is cozy,” she said breathlessly. Suddenly, the temperature seemed to jump 10 degrees, and all she could feel and see was Bellamy. It wasn’t unpleasant, by any means, but it was a bit distracting.

 

“Here,” he said, sitting and pulling her into his lap. “That work?”

 

She turned to look at him, only hesitating a moment before curling an arm around his shoulders. She could feel the heat of his body down to her bones everywhere they touched, and she was getting more than a little tired of fighting her attraction to him. “That works,” she agreed.

 

“Clarke,” he said, his voice sounding a little rough as their eyes locked. “I —”

 

They both jumped as the flash went off.

 

“Shit!” she said, laughing. “We missed it. Look forward, look forward!”

 

They laughed their way through three more photos, then stumbled out of the booth and waited for their pictures to show up.

 

He leaned on the booth, grinning down at her. He had such a beautiful smile, she could almost physically feel the effect of it. She certainly couldn’t stop herself from smiling back, not that she was inclined to try. 

 

He hadn’t so much as looked for his ex in the crowd. Every bit of his attention had been focused on her since she’d opened the door to him, and she started to let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, he really might be interested in her as more than just a fake girlfriend. 

 

Last time she’d allowed herself to care about someone, he’d turned out to be a liar and a cheat, and she’d gotten her heart broken. It was scary to even think about risking that again, especially when she already felt so _much_ when they weren’t even really together.

 

The strip of photos dropped into the tray, and she leaned into Bellamy as he picked them up. The last three were very silly; they laughed and made faces, and she’d very maturely given him bunny ears in the last one. 

 

The first, though …

 

The first picture showed two people who were so wrapped up in each other that they couldn’t see anything else.

 

Staring down at that image, she made a decision: If he wasn’t going to mention Lexa, Clarke certainly wasn’t going to bring her up. For the first time, she let herself admit that she would like very much to be Bellamy Blake’s _real_ girlfriend.

 

Aside from the very attractive idea of getting him naked on a regular basis, there was the fact that Bellamy was one of the kindest and most generous people she knew. He was smart and funny, and he went out of his way to help people all the time, not that he wanted anybody to know about it. And he saw her, _really_ saw her, and hadn’t run away screaming yet. That was a good sign.

 

Screw Lexa — she’d had him and lost him. It was time, Clarke decided, to start treating this like a real date.

 

“So, about that dance?” She took the strip of pictures from him and slipped it into her clutch.

 

“Hey, I want to keep those,” he objected.

 

“We can do another round later,” she said, stepping closer and slipping her fingers under one of his lapels. “That way, we both get what we want.”

 

He edged even closer, just a breath away from touching. “We should,” he said, so quietly she almost couldn’t hear him over the music. “Both get what we want.”

 

She lifted her eyes to his, which were very intensely trying to tell her something — hopefully that they weren’t talking about freaking photographs.

 

Swallowing hard, she smiled. “ _I_ want to dance,” she said.

 

“Your wish is my command, Princess,” he said, trailing his fingers down her bare arm to take her hand, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

 

_I have a lot of wishes_ , she wanted to say, but settled for lacing her fingers with his.

 

* * *

 

Neither one of them knew the steps, but that didn’t stop them from twirling around the dance floor, narrowly escaping collisions with other dancers a handful of times. Clarke felt like she hadn’t laughed this much on a date in … well, ever.

 

They eventually ran into some of his friends from work, crowding around the table with Monroe and her date Sterling (Clarke wasn’t sure if that was a first or last name) and Murphy and his date, Mel. 

 

Murphy was being a dick, as was apparently usual, so Mel spent her time alternately flirting with Bellamy (who, Clarke was pleased to observe, didn’t even seem to notice) and Monroe, who actually seemed kind of into it.

 

Clarke had taken the opportunity to shed her shoes, which were both sexy and uncomfortable in equal measure. She wasn’t even trying to fight the pull between them this time, and by the way Bellamy was leaning into her, his fingers teasing at the top of the slit in her dress, he felt the same. He was smiling and shaking his head at a story Monroe was telling, but Clarke couldn’t even grasp a word that was said since every few seconds he would skim his fingers over her thigh. Her thin stockings were no barrier at all to the warmth of his touch, and it was sparking heat all over her body. All her energy was focused on not jumping out of her seat (okay, truthfully, jumping _him_ ) every single time.

 

Finally, Monroe’s tale appeared to end, so Clarke grabbed his wandering hand in both of hers and sent him a tight smile. “Let’s dance, Blake.”

 

He grinned back, all wide eyes and innocence. “Sure thing, Griffin. Getting antsy just sitting here?”

 

“Something like that,” she said, reaching for her shoes.

 

“Let me.” He picked up one of her shoes and, sliding his hand from her knee to her foot, he slipped it on. Her breathing picked up as he repeated the same thing on the other side, even slower this time.

 

“Holy shit, that’s hot,” she heard Mel hiss, and she could not agree more.

 

He stood, taking her hand, and led her back out onto the dance floor. This song was a slow one, and he tucked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. He was solid and warm against her, and heat flared under her skin at the feel of being wrapped up in him. 

 

“This is a pretty song,” she said, pleased that her voice sounded even.

 

He nodded. “It’s called ‘I’m in the Mood for Love.’”

 

She raised her eyebrows and grinned at him. “Musical trivia with Bellamy Blake?”

 

He shrugged. “Our Mom always loved Big Band music.”

 

She smiled, sliding her hand up into the hair at the base of his neck, something she’d wanted to do forever. If it was a real date, why the hell not? His hair was softer than she’d expected, and his eyes drifted shut as she threaded her fingers through it.

 

One song merged into another, and eventually they weren’t even dancing anymore so much as swaying to the music, their foreheads touching. Clarke pulled back slightly, intending to ask him something … something that went right out of her head as soon as she saw the look on his face, the outright _want_ directed at her. Instantly, her knees went weak — a thing she never even believed could actually happen — and she leaned further into him. She couldn’t help her reaction; she watched his eyes watch her mouth as her tongue slid out along her lower lip.

 

She had a second to anticipate before he lowered his head, brushing his lips gently against hers. 

 

Since she’d developed her Bellamy Blake problem, Clarke had imagined any number of kisses between them, always hard and passionate and needy, teeth clacking together and tongues tangling as he fucked her up against a wall or spread out on a desk or table somewhere.

 

Never had she imagined how slow and gentle, almost cautious, it would be; it was almost like he was afraid of scaring her away. Running was the last thing on her mind, though, and she sank into it, into him, gasping when he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and traced it with his tongue.

 

Was spontaneous human combustion a thing? Because she really was starting to think it was a thing that could actually happen.

 

Pulling back, he said, “I have wanted to do that all night long.”

 

She was about to encourage him to give it another try when Murphy (not just a dick, a dick with really wretched timing) popped up beside him. “Blake, I need to talk to you a second.”

 

Bellamy closed his eyes briefly before turning to glare at his co-worker. “It can’t wait?”

 

“Just for a second, man.”

 

Clarke dropped her arms and stepped back with a wry smile. “You go, I’ll meet you back at the table.” Maybe Murphy’s interruption wasn’t the worst thing. She could use a couple of minutes alone in the bathroom to freak out, cool off and consider texting her friends about what had happened.

 

After her few minutes were up, she decided against telling O and Raven. What would she say, anyway? “Hey, O, we might be a go for coat-check closet sex”? No, before she told them anything, she wanted to wait until she got a handle on where things were going. If the kiss was anything to go by, it could be going right toward Bellamy’s bedroom (or, basically, any flat surface in his apartment; she wasn’t picky), and she was 100 percent on board with that plan.

 

She smiled into the mirror, touching up her smudged lipstick before sticking it back into the clutch. Maybe, she thought, taking a quick look at the photos tucked in there, they should take another set of pictures before they left.

 

Taking a deep breath, Clarke headed back out into the hall toward the ballroom. She laughed at an apparently drunk couple who were doing some kind of strange tango down the hall. Tracing their steps with her eyes, she stopped dead at the sight of another couple.

 

Tucked into an alcove near the end of the hall were Bellamy and Lexa, looking like the perfect couple, locked in a passionate kiss.

 

When it came to Fight or Flight responses, Clarke’s were almost exclusively Fight. She was stubborn as hell, abhorred injustice in any form and couldn’t stand to see a bully win.

 

But now, in this case, when the response was provoked by her own massively stupid mistake … the clear choice was to run like a big freaking coward and not look back.

 

She wasn’t even consciously aware that she’d made the decision until she was out the side door, through the toxic fog of smokers gathered around it, and actually inside the taxi taking her home.

 

It was like one minute she was watching the guy she’d started to have feelings for making out with his ex-girlfriend, and the next she was halfway home. The problem with home, though, was the very real possibility that Octavia would be there (with or without Lincoln), waiting to hear about the big date. And she couldn’t bear it. She’d either have to lie through her teeth, which she didn’t feel prepared for at the moment, or she’d have to tell the truth. Which she was probably never going to be prepared to do.

 

She paid the cab driver and stood outside her apartment for a minute before heading for her car. On the way, she dialed her phone.

 

“Clarke?”

 

“Hey, Wells.” Just the sound of his voice brought tears to her eyes, for no reason she could figure out. There was just something _solid_ about him; he was basically the only man in her life who had never let her down. He lived about two hours away, and she never got to see him enough anymore. “I know it’s Saturday night, but I really need a place to crash for the rest of the weekend. Can I borrow your couch?”

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“Yeah … no. I … it’s complicated.”

 

“You’re always welcome, you know that,” he said. “And I’ll take the couch. But I … I have plans I can’t break tonight. I’m having dinner with Angie’s parents.”

 

“Whoa!” she smiled despite herself. “Meeting the parents, Wells! That’s some serious shit right there.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You sound nervous.”

 

“Of course I’m nervous,” he said. “What if they hate me?”

 

“They’ll love you,” she said. “Everyone loves you. You’re like the perfect son-in-law material. They’ll be all over her to get you to the altar after tonight.”

 

“Maybe. I don’t know. Look, Clarke, I’ll leave a key with Ms. Wiley across the hall. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

 

“As long as you have some junk food, and Netflix, then I’ll be fine.” She winced as her phone beeped with an incoming call. “I’ll tell you all my drama tomorrow, and you can tell me all about how you charmed Angie’s parents.”

 

“There’s mint chocolate chip in the freezer and Cheetos and a couple kinds of sugary cereal in the pantry,” Wells said. “Clarke, you know I love you, right?”

 

“Love you, too,” she said, blinking back tears again. “I’ll see you later.”

 

After they hung up, she saw that she had a missed call from Bellamy, as well as a couple of texts asking where she was and if she was okay.

 

Sighing, Clarke fired off a quick text to O, telling her she was going out of town for a couple days, then tried to figure out how to respond to Bellamy. Obviously, this whole night had been a huge mistake, but she really didn’t want to lose him as a friend — no matter how hard it was going to be to see him with someone else.

 

**_I saw O’s ridic plan actually managed to work_** , she typed. **_So I made myself scarce. Congrats. I’ll see you later._**

 

Taking a deep breath, she hit send and turned off her phone, ignoring the text of about a thousand question marks from Octavia.

 

She just could not deal with that yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, y’all, I have never been yelled at so much IN ALL CAPS in many years of writing fanfic. How do you guys watch “The 100” but get so upset over a little bitty cliffhanger? LOL. I hope this part makes up for it a little bit. Thanks so much for all the support; all the messages, reviews and Likes mean a lot. We’re nearing the end of this thing … and did I mention that it’s rated M?

The drive flew by in a blur. If Clarke hadn’t been so upset, she might have been disturbed by how little she actually remembered about it. As it was, her mind was occupied by reliving every moment of the night and asking herself the same questions over and over.

 

How had this even happened? How did a girl who was relatively smart end up falling for the wrong guy twice in a row? How had she so completely misread the signs that she’d thought Bellamy was feeling the same thing she was? Or had she misread it at all? She hadn’t imagined the way he’d looked at her (she had photographic evidence, in fact), and she sure as hell hadn’t imagined the way he’d kissed her.

 

What was she supposed to do now?

 

It took her a little over two hours to get to Wells’ apartment, since she had to pull over for a few minutes and have a mini breakdown after she realized the road was looking blurry because there actually were tears in her eyes. Once her brief storm of crying was over, she pulled back out, feeling even worse than she had before.

 

If only she’d managed to just stick with her steamy fantasies about Bellamy without bringing feelings into it. Sexual frustration was a picnic compared to the ache she was feeling now in the region of her heart.

 

Trudging into the apartment building, she worked up an approximation of a smile for Wells’ senior citizen neighbor, who handed over the key to his place. Clarke felt a real smile twitching at her lips at the way the lady was scanning her up and down. The apartment building gossip mill would no doubt be going crazy tomorrow with the news of a tear-stained blonde in a fancy dress spending the night with Wells Jaha. At least her pain and embarrassment would be entertaining for someone.

 

Wells hadn’t fibbed. There was junk food aplenty at his place, and as soon as she’d locked the door behind her she made a beeline for the freezer.

 

Mint chocolate chip ice cream, to start. Most definitely.

 

Sighing, she kicked off the painful shoes of death and headed for the bedroom. She dug an old Batman T-shirt out of his dresser and stripped out of her dress, stockings and bra, leaving them on the floor. She knew there was no possible way she was going to be able to relax in the dress, and Wells wouldn’t care if she borrowed something of his. He was something of a neat freak, so her little pile of clothes would probably drive him nuts, but she couldn’t find it in her to care about that at the moment.

 

She decided that ice cream wasn’t quite what she craved, so after a few bites, she traded the carton for an enormous bowl of Lucky Charms. She flipped on the TV and settled on the couch with a fuzzy blanket, turning down the lights. Once she had Netflix up she skimmed through the programs, trying to pick what to watch.

 

Why didn’t Netflix have a category for Things to Watch When You’re a Clueless Idiot?

 

Finally, she decided on watching some of her favorite episodes of “The Office.” She’d get some laughs and maybe a few tears — and crying over the love lives of fictional characters was much better than crying over her own, she decided.  

 

* * *

She’d finished the Lucky Charms, taken time to unwind Octavia’s beautiful braids and had progressed to getting teary eyed over Jim and Pam’s wedding when there was a knock on the door. Peering at the clock on the end table, she realized it was almost midnight. Surely Wells hadn’t given her his only key?

 

Shoving the blanket off, she got up and trudged over to the door. She almost just opened the it, remembering in time to check the peephole in case it wasn’t him — and then froze as she saw it _wasn’t_ Wells out there, but Bellamy.

 

She gasped and pulled back, looking around at the apartment for … something to tell her what the hell she was supposed to do. Should she open the door or just pretend she wasn’t here? She jumped as he knocked again, slowly reaching out to unlock the door and pull it open.

 

“Bellamy? What are you doing here?”

 

“Clarke.” He looked her over, lingering a bit on her legs, before shaking his head and meeting her eyes again. “I — can I come in?”

 

He didn’t wait for an answer, barging right in, sparking her temper. Which was good. Anger was very good. Mad was preferable to sad any day of the week. She closed the door and spun around to look at him as he paced the room. He looked a little rumpled (adorably so, actually, but that was 1000 percent beside the point). He’d lost his bow tie and jacket, and his shirt was unbuttoned a bit, showing a white undershirt beneath. His curls were a little out of control, like he’d been running his hands through his hair; it was just the way she liked it, but that was also totally beside the point.

 

She would _not_ be distracted at how attractive he was. He had been kissing another woman a couple hours ago, right after he had kissed her. That was the point she needed to remember.

 

“Why are you here?” she asked again.

 

He sighed and stepped closer to her. She forced herself to stand her ground and not back away, but she crossed her arms over her chest, feeling practically naked in just Wells’ T-shirt.

 

“Octavia figured you’d be here,” he said. “We need to talk. I … screwed up. I should have known better than to go along with O’s plan in the first place. I just thought maybe it would finally get through to you.”

 

She closed her eyes, rubbing at her forehead. It was hard to stay mad when she was this confused. Was it possible she’d fallen asleep during “The Office” and was having the weirdest dream ever? If Michael Scott showed up, she was going to be really pissed. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

“I just — fuck,” he said. “We’re obviously having a communication breakdown here, and the fake dating fiasco just made things worse. So let me be as clear as I can be.”

 

Before she could reply, he reached out and cupped her face, pulling her into a kiss. It couldn’t have been more different from their first; it was everything she’d always imagined, hard and demanding, and she couldn’t even begin to stop herself from opening her mouth to him, allowing him to deepen the kiss even more.

 

_This has to be a dream_ , she thought as he backed her up against the door, one hand moving into her hair and the other dropping to skim across her collarbone where Wells’ shirt hung off her shoulder. But she’d never had a dream that made her head spin and her fingers tingle where they were clutched in his shirt front. She couldn’t invent the feel of his lean, muscled body pressed against her or the growl deep in his throat when she curled her arms around his neck and pushed closer to him.

 

She wasn’t proud of the whining sound she made when he pulled his mouth from hers, but she couldn’t stop it any more than she could stop the moan that erupted when he zeroed in on the perfect spot at the junction of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to turn her legs to jelly and leave her panting with want. God, she’d thought she wanted him before, but it was nothing compared to her desire to push him onto the floor and climb on him right. Fucking. Now.

 

“In case that wasn’t clear enough,” he spoke into her ear, stopping to tug on her earlobe before pulling back and looking right at her, “I want you, Clarke. It’s always been you. I’ve been crazy about you for years, and when I realized what Octavia was doing with this plan of hers, I thought it would be a way to make you see how great we could be together.”

 

When she just stared at him in shock, he looked uncertain but forged on. “Now would be a good time to say something. I’m not alone in this, am I? I mean, I just think … I’m saying I think we should date, for real this time.”

 

She started to nod before coming to her senses and shoving him. “No!”

 

“No?” He took a half-step back, and her stomach dropped at the way his face fell.

 

“I saw you,” she insisted. “I saw you kissing Lexa, so the plan —.”

 

“You saw _Lexa_ kissing _me_ ,” he interrupted. “Clarke, I swear, I didn’t even know if she would be there. As far as I was concerned, the whole plan was about you, not her.”

 

“But … you said you wanted her back.”

 

“No, _you_ said I wanted her back. I said it would be weird to see her with Kane. Which it was. He’s old enough to be her father.”

 

She stepped away and walked to the couch, sitting down with a frown. She went over every conversation she could remember … and he was right. Never, in all that time, had he said anything about wanting Lexa back. He just never bothered to correct her when she said it.

 

“Huh,” she said, staring across the room to avoid looking at him. _The whole plan was about you_? What was she supposed to do with that?

 

He huffed out a laugh and sat next to her. “Nobody was more surprised than me that the stupid plan worked. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Lexa’s extremely competitive, and she saw us kissing and realized that you were the reason …”

 

She turned to look at him. “The reason?”

 

“We broke up because she felt like I wouldn’t fully commit to being with her. Which was true. I think she realized tonight that it was because I had feelings for you. It was  … it was lousy of me to do that to her in the first place, but I thought I could finally get over this _thing_ I had for you. I was wrong.”

 

“Bellamy …”

 

“I know I should have just been honest with you from the start, but every time I’ve tried to say something to you, you thought I was joking — or trying to pick a fight.”

 

“Like when?” She scooted closer to him. “When did you ever try?”

 

“About a thousand times, Clarke,” he said. “You just never took me seriously. I thought maybe you just weren’t into me, but then I heard … well, that doesn’t matter. I just thought it was worth a try when Octavia came up with her idea.”

 

She had a very, very bad feeling about what he didn’t want to say. She almost didn’t want to know, but … 

 

“Nu-uh,” she said, poking him in the arm. “You heard what, exactly?”

 

He ran a hand through his hair again, and she thought he was maybe blushing a little bit, making her even more curious — and more than a little scared.

 

He looked down, suddenly finding the blanket squished between them to be oh so very interesting. “I may have overheard Octavia and Raven talking about some things you said when you were drunk. About … about me.”

 

_Oh. My. God._

 

_Oh._

 

_My._

 

_God._

 

“Oh. My. God,” she said out loud, and she knew she was blushing so hard she might never return to her normal color again. He knew about her fantasies? She was going to kill her roommates. She was going to spend the rest of her life in prison for murder, but what did it matter? She could never show her face among normal human beings again anyway. “Oh no no no no. You have to leave. You have to leave right now, and I can never even look at you again.”

 

“Clarke —”

 

“I’m serious, Bellamy.” She shoved at his arm a little bit. “Go, now. Just —”

 

“Clarke!” He turned toward her and grabbed her arms, forcing her to look at him. “I didn’t hear any details, just, you know, the general idea that you were attracted to me. Which I was really glad to hear, by the way.”

 

“Bellamy, I can’t —”

 

“Okay, look, since we’re being honest, it’s only fair to tell you that I have been fantasizing about you for _years_ , Clarke. I’m way ahead of you on that count. I mean, I’ve thought about it — about you — a lot. _A lot_.”

 

“You have?” She wasn’t sure why she was surprised, especially after everything he’d told her, but it did make her feel better to know she wasn’t alone in the dirty fantasies department.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, moving one hand up to her shoulder where her shirt was falling off again and brushing his thumb against her skin. “Maybe we have some of the same ones? Like … do you ever think about me going down on you? I like to imagine how you’d taste, the sounds you’d make, if you’d pull my hair …”

 

_Holy shit_ , she was seriously going to catch fire if he kept talking.

 

She pushed him back slightly and climbed into his lap, straddling his legs. “Well, if I wasn’t thinking about it before, I certainly am now,” she said, rocking her hips against him. 

 

She licked her lips, feeling herself flush — from embarrassment or the heat building low in her belly, she wasn’t sure which. But she felt compelled to offer up a fantasy of her own, if only to prove that she was just as brave as he was. “Your handcuffs kind of do it for me,” she said quietly. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you tying me up, doing … whatever the hell you want with me.”

 

With a low growl, he moved his hands to her hips and pulled her tighter against him. His fingers cupped her ass and teased at the edge of her underwear as she crashed her lips into his for another long, deep kiss.

 

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, hips grinding and mouths devouring, but they were both breathing heavily when he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. 

 

“You … I’ve imagined you, many times, wearing my shirts,” he said roughly, tugging at the Batman T-shirt. “Not some other guy’s. You and Wells, you’re just friends, right?”

 

“You’re awfully possessive for a guy who hasn’t even taken me on a date,” she said.

 

“Hey, I’ve taken you on two dates,” he objected. “Three, if you count dinner at the hospital.”

 

She laughed. “First of all, the hospital food was so bad, that actually counted against you.” She squirmed as he pinched her side, where she was ticklish. “Second, fake dates don’t even count.”

 

He stilled, then tilted his head back to look her in the eyes. “They might have been fake to you, but they were real for me.”

 

“Bellamy.” She shifted back and gripped the collar of his shirt. “There’s no one but you. Wells and I are totally platonic. And … if you don’t want me wearing this shirt, you’ll have to give me something else to wear.”

 

She laughed again at how fast he started unbuttoning his shirt, nearly knocking her off his lap in his haste. She got to her feet and took the shirt from him. She wasn’t sure where she got the nerve, but the twinge in her belly was more anticipation than fear as she pulled off Wells’ shirt right then and there. She paused for a beat, naked except for her lacy black panties, feeling his gaze like a physical touch on her skin. Slipping Bellamy’s shirt on, her fingers were surprisingly steady as she started buttoning it. By the way his eyes darkened, it was no surprise that she only got one buttoned before he grabbed her, pulling her against him and flipping them so that she was on her back with him leaning on one elbow over her.

 

“Dammit, Clarke,” he hissed, flicking the top button back open and baring her to him again. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

 

He looked back at her face, seeking permission, and she grinned, shifting so she could wrap her legs around him. He took that as a yes, which it was, and she let out a shaky breath as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss between her breasts and rocked his hips into hers, the hard bulge in his pants hitting her just right.

 

She slid her hands into his hair as he licked and sucked one breast, his fingers smoothing over the other, and her hips jerked into his as her whole body felt like it was burning from the inside out.

 

He moved his mouth to her other breast, and she moaned as she felt his hand toying with the top edge of her underwear. He slid the tips of his fingers just under the material, close enough to have her hips stuttering up but not enough to give her what she really needed.

 

“Bellamy, please,” she said, gasping and widening her legs as he rubbed her through her soaked panties, pushing them to the side to touch her without a barrier.

 

He thumbed at her clit, then brought his mouth to hers, sinking a long finger inside her just as his tongue slid along hers. A moment later he added a second finger, moving them in and out, curving them into the perfect spot inside her. She desperately rocked her hips against his hand, stunned that she was already so close. Nothing that her ex had done to her had ever felt so good, and they were just getting started.

 

“Come on, Princess,” he said, his mouth hovering over hers so she felt every word against her lips. “So close now, come for me. That’s right, just like that. _Clarke_.”

 

As she hovered on the edge, somehow it was the way he said her name that pushed her over, and she gripped his biceps tightly as she found the release she’d needed so much. 

 

“Mmmm,” she hummed afterward, smiling as she felt him press a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open to find him watching her, a soft expression on his face.

 

“Hi,” she said.

 

“Hey. You doing okay?”

 

“Okay” was an understatement. She felt fucking fantastic, and all she could think was _if he could do that to her with just his fingers, what the hell else could he do_?

 

God, she wanted to find out.

 

“Eh,” she said with a grin. “I’m all right.”

 

“Just all right?”

 

“Okay, I’m pretty great. But I’d be even better if you’d get rid of this,” she said, tugging at his undershirt. “I think it’s only fair.”

 

“Well, I definitely want to be fair,” he said, sitting up slightly and jerking the shirt over his head in one smooth move that did funny things to her insides.

 

“Come here.” She curled one arm around him as he lowered himself over her, and she dragged her nails lightly down his chest. She had wanted to get her hands on him for so long, it was hard to know where to start. When he covered her mouth with his again, in a slow, open-mouthed kiss, her mind went all fuzzy around the edges. She trailed her hand lower and cupped him through his pants, rubbing slightly before moving up to the button.

 

And then — because this was her life and nothing could ever go right — she heard someone at the front door. 

 

“ _Wells_ ,” she whispered against his mouth.

 

“What?” Bellamy pulled back, looking comically offended.

 

She huffed out a laugh and pushed him back. “It’s Wells, he’s coming home, move!” Her fingers flew to the buttons on her shirt, trying to at least cover herself slightly. Bellamy rolled into a sitting position, tugging at the blanket to cover his lap, which made her laugh harder.

 

“Hilarious, Princess,” he muttered, just as Wells got the door open.

 

“Um, hey, Wells,” Clarke said, trying to appear totally casual, as though they weren’t curled up half-naked on his couch. 

 

Her friend’s mouth dropped open as he looked from her to Bellamy and back again. She was thankful that she’d killed all the lights except the lamp by the couch, hoping that the semidarkness would hide the fact that most of the buttons on her shirt were still undone.

 

When nobody else spoke, Clarke waved her hand between them. “Wells Jaha, Bellamy Blake. Bellamy, Wells.”

 

Wells narrowed his eyes. “Blake? You’re Octavia’s brother?”

 

“Yep,” Bellamy said, staring right back. “That’s me.”

 

“Oookay,” Wells said, walking to his room. “I’m not even going to ask. See you in the morning, Clarke?”

 

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, buttoning the rest of the shirt as soon as he was out of sight. “Well, that wasn’t totally embarrassing or anything.”

 

“First time someone caught you having sex?” Bellamy said, giving her a dopey grin.

 

“We were _not_ … I mean, not exactly … you know what, never mind.” 

 

His grin widened, but before he could answer her, Wells called out from the bedroom. “Your maid doesn’t work here, Griffin, clean up after yourself!”

 

“You love me!” she yelled back, wincing when she remembered how late it was. Wells’ neighbors were going to have a lot to talk about tomorrow. “He’s a total neat freak, kind of obsessive, really,” she explained to Bellamy as she stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

 

She knocked on his door, not waiting for him to answer before she stepped in. “I know. I’m sorry,” she said before he could even speak. She took the pile of clothes out of his hands and started to fold them sloppily. “I was kind of in a bad place when I got here.”

 

“Well, you were in a much more naked place a second ago,” he said, rolling his eyes. He tugged her dress away from her and went to the closet for a hanger. “I told Ang I needed to get home to see if you were okay, and you were _doing it_ on my couch with a guy I thought you hated!”

 

“We were _not_ having sex … I mean, I guess it kind of depends on how you define — shit, never mind. The point is, it’s a long story.”

 

“I passed up ‘You Impressed the Hell Out of My Parents’ sex for you, Clarke.”

 

“They liked you, then?”

 

“They loved me.” He grinned at her, and she hugged him.

 

“I knew it! You can tell me all about it at breakfast, and I’ll tell you the story of how my life has become a Reese Witherspoon movie.”

 

“Deal,” he agreed. He waited until she had the bedroom door open before he said, loudly, “No sex on my couch!”

 

She may have slammed the bedroom door just a tad on the way out.

 

Bellamy was standing in the living room. Sadly, he’d put his shirt back on, and he sent her a sheepish grin. “Everything okay?”

 

“Sure,” she said, walking up and putting her arms around his waist. “You’re not going to leave, are you? It’s too late to drive back tonight.”

 

He glanced at the closed bedroom door. “It’s okay if I stay?”

 

“Of course it is, if you don’t mind being crammed on the couch with me.”

 

Instead of answering, he pulled back enough to kick his shoes off, then picked her up and carried her to the couch. They settled in together, her half on top of him, snuggled up with the blanket and a throw pillow. The sparks from earlier were still there, under the surface, but Clarke felt warm and sleepy there with him.

 

That didn’t mean she’d lost her desire to get him naked as soon as possible. 

 

“Bellamy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

She tilted her head to look up at him. “Can I take you on a date tomorrow night?”

 

He kissed her forehead. “I’d like nothing more.”

 

“Good,” she said, burying her nose in his chest. 

 

She had big plans for their date, and if anyone dared to interrupt them, there would likely be a murder. Fortunately for her, she had an inside man at the police department. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, the show kind of killed me with the way that Bellamy is 1000000 percent in love with Clarke, and maybe he’s just realizing it now that she refused to stay and just walked away from him and I have a lot of feelings about it. Anyway, thanks to everyone who favorited and reviewed this thing. It’s been fun to write. There is a bit of an epilogue coming in a day or two, from Bellamy’s POV, since I’ve been asked about it a bunch of times.

When she woke, Bellamy was gone, and her cell phone was on the end table on top of a note.

 

_Sleeping Beauty —_

 

_I let O know everything’s good, but you probably have 5,000 texts from her anyway.  Can’t wait for tonight, but I have to go by Miller’s this morning. Text me that you got home okay, and I’ll see you later._

 

_B_

 

“Romeo just took off a few minutes ago,” Wells said. She turned to see him leaning up against the kitchen counter.

 

“Good morning to you, too,” Clarke said, sinking back into the couch.

 

He brought two cups of coffee over and sat, handing one to her.

 

“He was tiptoeing around here like an idiot trying not to wake you. It was ridiculous.” Wells shrugged. “But kind of sweet.”

 

She smirked into her coffee mug. “You liked him,” she said.

 

“He’s okay.”

 

“You _liked_ him,” she said in a sing-song voice.

 

“I’d like him a lot better if he hadn’t made you cry.”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “I, um, actually, I kind of did that to myself. I know this might shock you, but I may have … jumped to conclusions and overreacted a bit.”

 

“No,” he said with a perfectly straight face. “I can’t believe that.”

 

“Okay, smart-ass, I had my reasons.”

 

“Which were?”

 

She took another sip. “I can’t talk about this on an empty stomach. I’m really craving one of those Panera breakfast souffles. If I squeeze my fat ass back into that dress, do you have a problem being seen in public with walk-of-shame girl?”

 

“I’m never ashamed to be seen with you, Griffin. But I’ve got some of Angie’s clothes here. She’s a lot taller than you, but I think we can find something that will work.”

 

“Good. I’ll tell you all about how dumb I am, and you can fill me in on how you charmed the pants off Angie’s parents.” At the look on his face, she laughed. “Okay, that sounds wrong. Let me rephrase.” 

 

“Even I’m not _that_ charming,” he said, dodging the pillow she threw at his head.

 

* * *

 

After a great breakfast with Wells, she drove home, singing to Taylor Swift at the top of her lungs. 

 

Five thousand texts from Octavia was a bit of an exaggeration, but both of her roommates had text-bombed her phone for hours, and she hadn’t even made her way through them all. Instead of trying, she’d simply sent them both a quick message ( ** _I’m an idiot, tell all when I get home_** ), and she knew they would be waiting to hear everything.

 

Well, maybe not everything. She was pretty sure O didn’t want to hear the details of her not-technically-sex with Bellamy. Or how she was planning to get rid of that technicality as soon as humanly possible.

 

She lucked into a decent parking spot and clambered out of the car, glancing down at her clothes. She wore a pair of Angie’s jeans, rolled up a bunch of times, along with a red tank top and Bellamy’s dress shirt (which totally smelled like him, not that she’d spent half the trip back sniffing it or anything). She’d happened to have a pair of flip-flops in the backseat of her car, which went with her outfit much better than heels.

 

It wasn’t quite walk-of-shame couture, but it was pretty close, and she braced herself for Octavia and Raven’s reaction.

 

She barely managed to make it in the door — tossing her dress to the side — before they swarmed her.

 

“Bitch!” Octavia said, punching her in the arm — _hard_ , dammit. “Don’t ever do that again!”

 

“What she means to say is, we’re glad you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere after vanishing off the face of the planet,” Raven said, glaring at her. The glare turned into a speculative look as she scanned Clarke from top to bottom. “You had sex.”

 

Octavia instantly zeroed in on Bellamy’s shirt, which she’d obviously just noticed. “Holy shit, you banged my brother!”

 

“I did not,” Clarke said, pulling away and rubbing her arm where O had punched her. “Not … exactly, anyway.”

 

“Ooooh, there’s a story here,” Raven said. “Tell us everything.”

 

“I’d rather know what the hell freaked you out,” Octavia said. “Bell said everything was okay, but why did you go radio silent on us?”

 

Clarke sighed and fell onto the couch, pulling a throw pillow into her lap. “Let’s see. … We had a lot of fun, and there was no sign of Lexa anywhere. Bellamy didn’t seem to care at all —”

 

“Because he’s not into her, duh,” Octavia said as she and Raven flanked her on the couch. 

 

“I know that _now_ ,” Clarke said. “But then, I just thought it was weird. And then I thought, why should I care? So I started flirting with him, and he was flirting back, and then there was an amazing kiss …”

 

“Wow, that sounds terrible,” Raven deadpanned. “No wonder you ran away.”

 

Clarke picked at the edges of the pillow. “It was great, actually. At least, until I came out of the bathroom and saw Bellamy and Lexa kissing.”

 

“He _didn’t_.” O clapped a hand over her eyes. “That idiot.”

 

“Technically, she kissed him. Apparently she saw us kissing and got jealous or super competitive about it … or whatever. But it kind of looked mutual in the two seconds I managed to stick around.”

 

“Wait,” Raven said. “Hold up, Griffin. You ran away? You should have marched up to that bitch and punched her in the fucking face for touching your man!”

 

“Like you did when I slept with your boyfriend?”

 

“Totally different situation, Clarke. You didn’t know he had a girlfriend. She clearly knew that you two were together when she kissed him.”

 

“We’re not … well, I guess we are together now? But _then_ he was just a friend, who I really, really wanted to jump. I thought he wanted Lexa back, so I was trying to let him have that. I just didn’t want to stay and witness it for myself.”

 

“Oh honey,” Octavia said with a sigh. “I don’t see how you’re the only one who didn’t know that Bell has been half in love with you basically since you met.”

 

“So you came up with this plan to throw us together?”

 

“Have you never watched television, Clarke? Fake relationship is the best storyline of all time,” Octavia said. “It always makes people realize their true feelings.”

 

“And then they fuck,” Raven said. “I want to know everything. Spill it.”

 

“We just made out. But it was honestly better than any full-on sex I’ve ever had before,” Clarke said. She glanced at Octavia before bringing the pillow up to hide her face. “One of us got off before Wells not-so-helpfully came home and found us on his couch.”

 

“It better have been you,” Raven said.

 

“It _so_ was me.”

 

“How did he —”

 

“Let me stop you right there,” Octavia said. “I’m glad to know you finally got some, because you desperately needed it, but I don’t want to know more, okay?”

 

“I agree completely,” she said, dropping the pillow. “I don’t … it’s private, you know?”

 

Octavia smiled. “I do know. Why do you think I haven’t told you all the details about what a sex god Lincoln is? Because the man definitely knows what he’s doing in the sack. But that’s just between us.”

 

“Damn,” Raven said, bumping Clarke’s shoulder with her own. “It’s serious, then? More than just your lusty fantasies and fake dating?”

 

“Try real dating,” Clarke said. “I really, really like him, guys. Like, I get butterflies thinking about our date tonight.”

 

“Tonight?” Octavia jumped up. “Girl, have you even seen yourself? Get in the shower! You have to start getting ready now!”

 

Clarke tossed the pillow at her. “Nope. No all-day primping sessions for this one. I’ve got it covered. Trust me.”

 

“Where’re you going on your date?” Raven asked.

 

“Well …” Clarke smiled.

 

* * *

 

Clarke took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to calm herself down before she knocked on Bellamy’s door. The combination of nerves and excitement were doing a number on her tummy; she was no expert in seduction, but projectile vomiting when the guy opens the door didn’t seem like a good way to get started.

 

_You look amazing_ , she psyched herself up. _You smell good, your hair hits the perfect balance between “fixy” and “messy,” your boobs look fantastic. You aren’t a princess, you’re a fucking queen. And the guy behind this door is all yours if you want him_.

 

And boy, did she ever.

 

After another deep breath, she knocked.

 

He’d obviously been waiting, because she was barely finished knocking before he opened the door. He wore dark jeans and a burgundy v-neck T-shirt, and he was making a solid attempt to blind her with his smile. 

 

“Hey,” he said, taking in her appearance: worn jeans, snug black tank and a pair of flat sandals that showed off her freshly polished red toes. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of dangly earrings she’d borrowed from Octavia, the gold gleam nearly blending in with her hair, which she wore down.

 

After a quick once-over at Clarke — with a slightly longer double-take at the cleavage on view, she noted — he frowned slightly as he focused on her hand. 

 

More specifically, at the pizza in her hand.

 

“So, here’s the thing,” she said. “We could go out somewhere, have dinner, catch a movie, probably have a lot of fun. I mean, there’s something to be said for spending time talking and laughing, and letting the anticipation build for what we would both rather be doing.”

 

His grin started to make a rebound, and he stepped a little closer.

 

“But there’s one little problem with going out in public,” she said.

 

“The people.”

 

“The people!” She laughed, handing him the pizza and barging her way in the door. She headed toward the kitchen, trusting that he was following her. She loved Bellamy’s house; it had been his mother’s, and he was going room-by-room renovating it himself. She and Octavia had even helped out with painting a couple of the rooms. “Yes! Exactly. As soon as we sat down to eat, we’d run into one of your friends, or my ex-boyfriend, or my lovely roommates, or — oh God — my mom or something.”

 

She scanned the kitchen, moving over to put her purse and tote bag on the counter.

 

Before she could turn around, the pizza dropped on the counter next to her bags, and Bellamy caged her in from behind, his hands gripping the counter on either side of her.

 

“What’s in here?” he murmured, the feel of his breath on her ear setting off a shiver she didn’t even try to hide. He reached for the tote bag, chuckling when she smacked his hand away.

 

“That’s for dessert,” she said, leaning her whole body back into his.

 

“What if I like to have dessert first?” he asked, moving her hair out of the way and brushing kisses down her neck.

 

One hand snuck up her top, resting on bare skin just below her bra, while the other moved to her hip, pulling her back more firmly against him. He zeroed in on that perfect, magic spot on her neck, sucking hard enough that she just knew she’d end up with a hickey. It was hard to care, though, when her knees were already turning to jelly and a throbbing was starting deep inside her.

 

“Aren’t you — _God, Bellamy_ — aren’t you hungry?”

 

“Mmm, cold pizza is the best,” he mumbled against her skin.

 

Clarke considered cold pizza one of the worst things you could eat, ever. But in this case …

 

She turned in his arms, running her hands up his very impressive biceps to his shoulders. “You’re right,” she said, going up on tiptoe to brush a few kisses along his jawline, then the corner of his mouth, before pressing her lips to his. He responded instantly, sinking into the kiss while tugging her hips into his, making a sound deep in his throat when her nails dug into his shoulders.

 

She could feel him, hard against her belly, and she wanted him with no layers between them; it was a mystery to her why they were still wearing clothes at all. She was just about to ask when he pulled back from her and shook his head slightly.

 

“Are _you_ hungry?” he asked earnestly.

 

“I’m … what?”

 

“Have you eaten today?” At her blank look, he sighed. “We can stop and have dinner first if you want.”

 

She huffed out a laugh. “Are you serious?”

 

“I know how you are, Clarke.”

 

“You’re seriously going to big-brother me right now? Wow, that’s kind of a turn-off,” she said, holding back a grin. “I don’t know if I even want you anymore. Maybe we _should_ eat. And then just watch some Netflix or something.”

 

“Smart-ass,” he said, backing her into the counter. “I’m just saying, I would prefer that you pass out from a mind-blowing orgasm tonight, not from hunger.”

 

_Oh, my_.

 

The way he said it — completely seriously, like it was not just a possibility but a certainty  — made her stomach tighten and her hips involuntarily move closer to him.

 

She was in way over her head, and she couldn’t be happier about it.

 

She cleared her throat. “You sound awfully sure of yourself, there, Blake.”

 

His slow, smug smile caused a liquid rush of heat between her thighs. He leaned his forehead into hers and spoke in a low voice, punctuating each word with a press of his hips into hers. “Have. You. Eaten. Anything. Today.”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” she hissed. “Fuck. Yes. Will you take me to bed now?”

 

He slid his hands over her ass to her thighs, lifting her up as though she weighed nothing (which she knew wasn’t true; the man had insane upper-body strength), and she wrapped her arms and legs around him. Sliding a hand into the hair at the base of his neck, she burrowed her nose into his neck, inhaling his warm, woodsy scent before laying kisses along his skin, mentally noting the way he jerked when she gently scraped her teeth there as well.

 

They made it to the landing at the top of the stairs before he stopped, pushing her back against the wall and thrusting his hips into her. She bumped her head back into the wall and moaned as the hard ridge of his erection ground into her just right and one hand moved back up under her top to cover her breast.

 

So good, it felt so good, but it wasn’t enough.

 

He seemed to agree, urging her to lower her legs and moving to yank her top off.

 

“Ow, shit!” Clarke yelped as the material got caught in one of her earrings. He froze instantly, letting her untangle the top and whispering “I’m sorry.”

 

She laughed, throwing the shirt to the side. “My one concession to getting dressed up for our date,” she said, pulling both of the earrings off and stuffing them in her pocket. “My mistake.”

 

He didn’t respond, and when she lifted her eyes she saw Bellamy’s were focused on her lacy red bra.

 

Oh yeah. That.

 

“Okay, maybe not my only concession,” she said, running a finger along the top edge of the bra, holding back a chuckle as his eyes followed along.

 

“Red is my favorite color,” he said.

 

“Mmmhmm,” she nodded, trailing her hand down her body to tap at the button of her jeans. “Wanna see the rest?”

 

“Hell yes,” he growled, meeting her eyes again.

 

Smiling, she kicked her sandals off, slipping past him and into his bedroom before shimmying out of her jeans. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting one hand low on her belly.

 

“You like?” she asked, feeling a little smug. 

 

In answer, he slipped his hand into her panties, slowly circling, slipping into her wet heat. Clarke bit her lip and tried to hold back a moan; watching and feeling him fucking her with his fingers at the same time was unbelievably hot.

 

“Shit, Clarke, you’re so wet,” he hissed, nipping at her neck. “So fucking hot for me. Do you know how many times I’ve imagined you like this?”

 

He continued to talk in her ear, his voice winding her up almost as much as his touch, until she was gasping and trembling, her inner muscles fluttering around his fingers.

 

Bellamy scooped her up, setting her on the edge of the bed.

 

“Why the hell are you still dressed?” she asked breathlessly, waving her hand at him. “Get naked already.”

 

“Bossy,” he said, grinning. But she was pleased to see him following orders, anyway, leaning back — a little shakily, to be honest — on her hands to watch as he stripped off his shirt.

 

In response, she popped the clasp on her bra and tossed it to the side, laughing a little as his eyes zeroed in on her breasts. She motioned for him to continue. 

 

“Please tell me you have a condom up here,” she said. She had some in her purse, but she didn’t want to have to trek down there and get them.

 

He took off his shoes and unzipped his jeans. “Nightstand.”

 

She stood and slipped the drawer open, grabbing one and tapping the packet against her lips as she turned to watch him kicking off his jeans and boxers at the same time.

 

She took a deep breath and licked her lips at the sight of him; he was beautiful, toned and bronzed — and big — all over. Before the night was through, she promised herself, she’d have her mouth over every inch of that body.

 

“Nervous, Princess?” he asked, stepping closer.

 

She shook her head and mirrored him, stepping closer and running her hand down his chest and over his abs. “Uh-uh. I just really, really need you inside me, like now.”

 

“That r-right?” His breath hitched as she wrapped a hand around him, slowly stroking up and down, thumb ghosting over the tip. 

 

Handing him the condom, she watched him put it on before slipping off her panties. Bellamy’s arms came around her as he lowered them both to the bed, resting on his elbows over her. She spread her legs a little further and helped guide him to her entrance, moaning as he sank inch by inch into her.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” she sighed, gripping his shoulders as she adjusted to the feel of him. “Oh, Bellamy.” 

 

“Clarke, fuck, you feel so good,” he said, lowering his head to kiss her, licking into her mouth while he started to move, slow, deep thrusts building until they were faster and harder.

 

Even he apparently lost the ability to speak after that; aside from the occasional low curse from him, the only sounds were their twin gasping moans and the sound of skin against skin.

 

She’d never felt like this, ever, like everything in the world had narrowed down to every spot where they were touching, to Bellamy pressing Clarke into his mattress, to the heavy drag of him inside her at just the right angle. They could have been fucking for seconds, or hours, or forever, and it was too much, and she wanted _more, more_ , _more_.

 

She didn’t even realize she was saying so out loud until Bellamy’s rough, “yes ma’am,” and the feel of his fingers circling her where they were joined. She heard him saying her name over and over as she fell apart, and she was dimly aware of him following close behind her as she shook, reeling and trying to catch her breath.

 

Why the hell had she waited so long to do this?

 

* * *

 

“Hey, nuke mine, will you?” Clarke asked, coming into the kitchen to see Bellamy opening the pizza box.

 

“I thought you said cold pizza sounded good.”

 

“Ugh, I lied,” she said. “I just wanted to skip right to dessert.”

 

He laughed, digging through a cabinet and pulling out a pizza pan. “God bless you. But microwaved pizza’s the worst. I’ll heat it up in the oven.”

 

Clarke kissed his cheek in thanks and wandered over to the fridge to see what she could find to drink. She was starving, and thirsty, or else she might be tempted to do something about the way Bellamy’s sweats were just barely hanging onto his hips or the way he was not-so-subtly checking out her legs, on full display since she was only wearing his shirt.

 

It only took a few minutes to heat up her pizza, and they stood in the kitchen eating and talking easily … and checking each other out. Bellamy finished eating first, and he wandered over to where her tote bag sat.

 

“Speaking of dessert,” he said. “Am I allowed to look in here now?”

 

She shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

 

He looked in the bag, then huffed out a laugh, waving a strip of condoms at her. “Griffin, you hussy.” 

 

She laughed, too, realizing how they got in there. “Oh my God, I have the best and worst roommates ever.”

 

He frowned at the condoms, dropping them back in the bag, probably at the idea of his baby sister even knowing what they were. 

 

“Let’s say Raven put them in there,” she suggested. “It’s a little less weird.”

 

“We’ll have to thank her later. What do we have here?” He pulled the bottle of tequila out of the bag and smirked at her. “I assure you, Clarke, you never have to get me drunk to have your way with me.”

 

She tossed her paper plate in the trash, moving over to pull the last item out of the tote bag. It was an insulated lunch bag, which she unzipped, revealing a bag of cut limes. “I believe something was mentioned about body shots,” she said, raising her eyebrows in challenge. “I brought the tequila and limes; I figured you could probably provide the salt …” Her eyes traveled down his bare chest. “And the abs.”

 

Bellamy grinned.

 

* * *

 

In the end, she only got one chance, licking a salty stripe off his abs (even more perfect up close and personal), downing a shot and sucking a lime wedge out of Bellamy’s mouth. He’d spit the thing out a moment later, capturing her mouth in a deep, wet, filthy kiss while his hands wandered boldly beneath the T-shirt she wore.

 

Eventually, she wanted more than one turn, but it was hard to feel cheated when she ended up spread out on his kitchen table, shirt rucked up over her breasts, Bellamy bringing her off with his tongue and teeth and fingers, one hand plucking almost painfully at one of her nipples while he licked her out like she was the most delicious dessert he’d ever tasted.

 

One long, fantastic shower later, they were cuddled together in his bed, running their hands over each other in more of a comforting than arousing way.

 

“It’s entirely possible that I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” Clarke commented. She was already a bit sore, but it was a fantastic feeling. 

 

“Good,” he said. “Skip class, and I’ll call in sick, and we can stay in bed all day.”

 

“That sounds great, but I have a biochem exam I can’t miss in the morning.” She kissed him gently on the chest before burrowing her nose into him.

 

“You are staying, though?”

 

Blinking at the tone in his voice — an obvious effort to sound casual when he clearly wasn’t feeling it — she pulled back to look up at him. “You’d need a bulldozer to pry me out of this bed tonight,” she said lightly.

 

He nodded and gave her a small smile, still looking a little uncertain.

 

“Bellamy,” she said. “You’re stuck with me now. You missed your one chance to get away last night.”

 

“Damn,” he said, smile widening. “What will I do now?”

 

“Rest up,” she ordered, snuggling back into his chest. “I don’t know about you, but I have a lot more fantasies that need to be fulfilled.”

 

The last thing she heard before she drifted off to sleep was Bellamy’s low voice in her ear. “I live to serve, Princess.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was so in love with her, he couldn’t see straight. By popular demand, an epilogue from Bellamy’s POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed or favorited this fic. And especially those who sent me messages about it. You guys rock! I hope you enjoy the epilogue, too. It’s basically just 1,500 words of pointless fluff.

Bellamy Blake was the luckiest bastard in the world, and he knew it.

 

He had a sister he’d practically raised himself, and he could not be more proud of the life she was building for herself; he even kind of liked her latest boyfriend, not that he would ever admit it out loud. (Walking in on the two of them in a heavy makeout session on the couch was a bit of a setback, but he was trying to get past it. He wanted O to be happy, he just didn’t want to witness it.)

 

He had a job that he loved, where he really felt like he was making a difference, and he was all but certain he was going to ace his upcoming detective’s exam, making way for a promotion on the horizon. He had great friends in and out of work, and his partner had finally healed up and was 100 percent back at work.

 

And then there was Clarke. 

 

Clarke Griffin was smart and independent, strong and funny and compassionate, infuriatingly stubborn and hot as hell. The things the woman could do with her mouth should probably be illegal.

 

He was so in love with her, he couldn’t see straight.

 

Truth be told, he’d been gone on Clarke long before she ever agreed to the first fake date. Hell, he’d had feelings — carefully unexplored feelings — for her long before she ever had a civil word to say to Octavia’s asshole older brother.

 

He wanted to tell her, wanted her to know how he felt, but it was _Clarke_. He knew she liked him a lot, and she was very satisfied sexually (if he did say so himself), but that didn’t necessarily mean she was ready to hear the L word from him. They’d only been dating for two months; it wasn’t like he had to rush into anything, but it was getting harder and harder not to let the words slip out sometimes.

 

Like every time he was inside her. Or when she curled into his side and used him like a human pillow. Or when she made him lemon cookies after a rough day at work, even though he knew for a fact that she considered dessert without chocolate a waste of time and calories. Or, basically, any time she smiled at him. Which was more often all the time.

 

His girlfriend was smiling at him now, as she perched on the edge of her kitchen table — wearing nothing but the Ark City Police Department T-shirt she’d stolen from him — one long, temptingly bare leg on either side of his hips. She was biting her lip, trying to hold back a laugh.

 

“Are we really doing this?” she whispered.

 

“Yep.”

 

“It’s kind of mean.”

 

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, bumping his nose into hers. “She’s got it coming for meddling in our business.”

 

At Raven’s birthday party the previous night, Octavia had entertained their friends (and half the bar’s patrons nearby, too) with a drunken tale of her adventures in forcing Bellamy and Clarke to realize they were perfect for each other. It was only about 50 percent true — and honestly, pretty hilarious — but also a little embarrassing. He’d decided then that little sis needed a lesson in boundaries.

 

Clarke sighed. “Yes, but if she had kept out of our business, we might not be together. Think of all we would have missed out on.”

 

“It’s the principle,” he insisted.

 

“Okay,” she raised her eyebrows. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that you walked in on her and Lincoln getting gropey on the couch the other night?”

 

Maybe it was a little bit about that. Like 20 percent. Or, okay, at least 75 percent. 

 

Yeah, Clarke knew him very well.

 

Just then, they heard Octavia’s door creak open and the distinctive shuffle of his half-asleep (and undoubtedly hungover) sister heading toward the kitchen. He looked at Clarke, who shrugged and wrapped her arms around him.

 

Bellamy pushed her back onto the table, tugging one of her legs up over his hip and pressing his mouth to hers. Despite the fact that they’d planned this, he was 99 percent sure Clarke’s moan was genuine, and his body’s response to her certainly was. Truthfully, he and his dick were in complete agreement that Inside Clarke was the best place to be, ever.

 

Fortunately, before he could forget the whole point of this display, he heard a gasp from the doorway.

 

“Oh my God, what the hell? Ugh, you guys, we eat at that table!”

 

Bellamy pulled back to see Clarke grinning at him; in one of their frequent episodes of nonverbal communication he just _knew_ Clarke was thinking about O’s reaction if she had any idea of some of the things they’d done in his kitchen over the last two months. It was, for whatever reason, one of their favorite places to fuck.

 

He turned to look at Octavia, who was still staring at them, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

 

“Yeah?” he asked. “Well we sit on that couch all the time. We just had movie night there last Friday, for fuck’s sake!”

 

“Seriously, Bell? For the thousandth time, I’m sorry you saw that! We weren’t even having sex; you’re totally overreacting!”

 

He stood up, helping Clarke into a sitting position. “The last thing I ever needed to see was your boyfriend’s naked ass, O,” he said. “And I don’t want to have to borrow a blacklight from work to go over your apartment before I sit anywhere.”

 

Octavia made an enraged sound deep in her throat and stormed out of the kitchen. Bellamy turned back to Clarke, who was shaking her head at him.

 

“A blacklight?” she asked. “Lincoln’s naked ass? Didn’t you tell me they were mostly still clothed?”

 

He shrugged. “I got a little carried away.”

 

“Yeah, a little bit.”

 

“You don’t know how traumatic it was,” he told her. There was a big difference between knowing your baby sister was having sex, and seeing her pinned beneath a large, half-naked tattooed guy with really, really wandering hands. “I’ve got to keep giving her crap for at least a couple of days. It’s a big brother thing.”

 

“Hmm, whatever you say, big bro.”

 

“Hey, if you’re so against it, why did you agree to do this?” he demanded.

 

She shrugged. “Seems I’ve developed a bit of a kitchen kink.”

 

“Is that so?” he asked, running his fingertips from her knees to the top of her thighs. “Well, O is definitely not coming back in here for the forseeable future …”

 

She laughed and pushed his hands away. “No, but Raven probably is. And she won’t be freaked out; she’ll just stand there and watch.”

 

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” he joked.

 

“Ha, you say that now, but wait until she starts critiquing your technique.”

 

“And what’s wrong with my technique?” He knew she was joking, they both were, but some things were not a joking matter.

 

“Nothing,” she said, huffing out a laugh. “But it’s Raven; she’d find something.”

 

He frowned. 

 

“Oh my God,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You big dork, there is nothing wrong with you. Except for the fact that you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

 

“Ditto,” he said softly.

 

Clarke was still shaking her head and smiling at him, in amusement … and something else.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” she said. “I just love you, that’s all.”

 

He froze, wondering if he was hearing things. _That’s all?_ “You just what?”

 

“You heard me, Blake, I love you,” she said casually, like it was no big deal.

 

“Dammit, Griffin!”

 

“Wow,” she said. “I have to say, that’s one reaction I did not expect.”

 

“I’ve been wanting to tell you that forever, but I didn’t want to freak you out!”

 

“Kinda like you’re doing now?”

 

“I am not freaking out!” 

 

“You are, a little bit,” she said with a smirk, pushing him back slightly so she could stand. She looked up at him with an innocent smile. “I understand, some men are uncomfortable expressing their emotions.”

 

“I’m not uncomfortable with … for fuck’s sake, I love you, too!”

 

“I know you do,” she said. “And I will forever treasure the charming manner in which you chose to tell me so. However, if you’re more comfortable with expressing your love in a nonverbal manner, the kitchen still has me all hot and bothered, so …”

 

Trailing off with a grin, she left the kitchen.

 

_Infuriating_ woman, always had to have the last word.

 

And he loved her (and she loved him back!), so he’d give her _all_ the last words. In fact, he’d love to see what words she could come up with while he was pushing her into her mattress, fucking her from behind, pulling her hair the way that seemed to draw the most intoxicating moans from her.

 

From past experience, he was betting on _“Oh God, yes, please, Bellamy! Fuck me harder, Bellamy!”_ And maybe, just maybe, “I love you, Bellamy.”

 

Luckiest. Bastard. Ever.


End file.
